Don't Look Back
by Valairy Scot
Summary: ObiWan Kenobi doesn't believe in luck. It's one choices and training, not luck, that determines one fate. When he and his padawan are stranded in the mountains, he faces a life or death decision and Anakin Skywalker faces a lesson he never wished to learn
1. Chapter 1

_Don't look down_.

Down was death. Up was life. Up wasn't that far above them, but down was infinitely further.

Obi-Wan looked down below him at Anakin's upturned and white face, and the hand clasped securely in his own. Too close…it had been far too close. He had almost lost him to the depths. He tightened his grip.

"Anakin, climb over me! I need you to get above me."

Qui-Gon would be proud of him, if he were there to hear his former padawan. He was focused and calm, while in imminent danger. There was something about long falls and Obi-Wan Kenobi: they seemed drawn to each other. Nearly a year ago, he had been in two mere minutes apart. Qui-Gon had seen the first, and battled on without him, trusting him to save himself. Qui-Gon had been a witness to the second, though he probably had not seen his padawan's fall into the pit, or so Obi-Wan thought. He would never know: Qui-Gon had died just a few minutes later.

He really didn't need to be thinking of death as he dangled above another potentially deadly fall.

Up was life, down was death. And Anakin was below him.

"Anakin! You must get above me."

"No!" his padawan whimpered. "You – you're hurt, I'll hurt you."

He couldn't hurt any more than he did already, Obi-Wan thought grimly, and Anakin didn't know just how bad his master's injuries were. Nor did he, for that matter. How much worse could the pain get? Far above him he could sense the anchor pulling free, and with the pain clouding his mind and the bone numbing chill, he couldn't do much about reinforcing it. Even a Force push was beyond him at the moment. It was taking all his strength just to think of how to get them out of there, or failing that, getting Anakin out of there.

He glanced down again, into the crevasse stretching deep into the mountain. They were hanging on a utility line quite a number of feet below the lip and it seemed infinity stretched below his boots. His anchor had caught and held him, allowing him to reach out and grab Anakin as he hurtled past him. He was left holding onto the cable with his bad arm, Anakin hanging from the other, and the strain was wrenching that shoulder from its socket.

Anakin had managed to wrap the line around his legs, but that did little for Obi-Wan's arm, and the shock of catching a falling body had put even more stress on the anchor. Something was going to give, soon, if Obi-Wan interpreted the Force's warning correctly.

They dropped a few inches. The Force was warning him all right. They didn't have much time before the anchor gave way and both Jedi discovered just how deep the crevasse was.

He really had no wish to make this discovery. His concern was getting up and out.

Pouring all the reassurance he could into his voice, he spoke lightly.

"No, you won't hurt me. Padawan, I'm making that an order: climb above me and keep climbing…whatever you do, just keep climbing. Focus only on that."

"And…and the anchor?" Anakin's voice quavered, but was otherwise strong.

"It'll hold long enough," he said firmly. The Force didn't disagree.

He had never believed in luck. A Jedi made his own choices and his own chances. If he was smart enough, trained enough, and in tune with the Force enough, a Jedi could make his own luck. He had never thought about _bad luck_ when he bothered to think about luck at all, and bad luck had trapped the two of them on this isolated planet, in a blizzard, in the mountains, on foot after their small ship had lost power and all but crashed on this mountain.

Anything the passengers survived didn't count as a crash by his way of thinking, but that ship most definitely would not fly again. Maybe it _was_ a crash, he had conceded, privately. He was known for having a fear of flying, but he knew better – it was not fear of flying, but the fear of crashing that made him uneasy.

He didn't know if the emergency beacon had reached anyone or just how soon it would take rescuers to arrive, but the ship was in a precarious position and not likely to remain on its perch for long. In this case, safety came by leaving its shelter and trying to make it to the forested environs below where they could make a fire and take stock of their injuries.

Anakin had escaped the crash with a mere cut on his arm. Obi-Wan had not been so lucky. He was groggy from hitting his head on the instrument panel, and his arm hung nearly useless at his side, badly wrenched or worse when his safety harness failed and he was thrown into a bulkhead.

He had come to, staring out a shattered transparisteel panel at empty air and realized that just another few feet and the ship and its passengers would have slid right off the ledge they were on. And dropped a long, long ways down. And stopped, abruptly and painfully.

Shock and dismay had kept him immobile, afraid any movement might send them forward. He tried instead to focus into the Force for answers, but the Force seemed to elude him. Concussion could do that to a Jedi.

Only the sound of Anakin coming to him after the ship finally stopped skidding had turned his eyes from the space beyond. The boy reached a shaking hand to his master's head and it came away sticky with blood; fear shone in his eyes.

"I'll be okay, Padawan," he lied, though it would be truth once they reached safety. Anakin had not been his padawan that long – less than a year and Obi-Wan was still trying to teach him how to release his emotions and focus. Anakin would focus much better if he believed his master was okay. Taking that worry away increased both their chances to survive. Survival trumped truth any day.

Gathering the limited survival equipment and clothing aboard, he had jammed a hypo into his arm and added the rest to his belt. He was grateful that this was not Anakin's first trip on snow and ice – the boy had at least some training in snow travel and survival. He had made that a fairly high priority, that as well as swimming lessons, for Anakin had experience with neither.

"Ideally, we should remain with the ship and inside," he reminded Anakin as he tethered them together. "However one wrong move or a strong gust of wind will blow it over the edge, taking us with it. We need to aim for the tree line down there; if we can't make it before dark at least we should be on that snowfield where we can dig a snow cave as we did before, remember?"

"Good;" he grinned at Anakin's nod. "It's not far; you see the route we'll take? Remember to listen to the snow – both it and the Force will tell you if we are hitting a hollow spot or dangerous ice that we need to detour around."

"The Force will tell you, too," Anakin said confidently. "You hear it differently than me; it doesn't speak as well to me as to you."

Anakin's innate abilities and lack of training when young had made Anakin's use of the Force less one of _listening_ to it as opposed to _using_ it. However it was more than a tool, it was a guide: a lesson he was still trying to teach his padawan.

"My connection is – weak – at the moment," Obi-Wan finally said, gazing intently at his padawan. Obi-Wan sighed. He really didn't want to burden Anakin with the knowledge, but it was necessary for the safety of them both. "I took quite a knock on the head and, well, it's disrupted my ability to feel the Force. I have to rely on you."

He gazed steadily at Anakin and was pleased with the reaction: determination. He could rely on him now that he was not able to rely on himself. The boy was a Jedi.

"I'll save us, Master."

"I don't doubt it. As I will save you, Padawan. We will always be there to save each other during the many years ahead of us – now, let's get moving."

_Focus on the here and now_.

_Yes, Master_. He had heard that very admonishment many times; it automatically sprang to mind in such situations. Qui-Gon would be proud. _I'll try_.

_There is no try – there is –_

_I know. Do or do not_, he finished the thought, and found a second to chuckle. Jedi masters instilled their lessons well.

Focus.

Focus only on the next few minutes that would give them a future or deny it.

Obi-Wan felt Anakin reach for his belt, felt the pull as it cut into his stomach. "Keep… going," he gritted. One hand reached his shoulder and he nearly passed out with the pain. "Now the other one." He nearly shrieked when Anakin's weight was fully upon his shattered shoulder. "Clip in, Anakin…good…now climb."

He wrapped his good arm around the cable and leaned his forehead against it, trying to release the pain, white faced and sweaty. He really needed another hypo. He would rest a minute before trying to get one from his belt. The effort seemed beyond him at the moment.

He looked up, trying to gauge how much time they had. Anakin was making good progress, he wasn't far now. A good Force push would jam the anchor in, giving them more than enough time. He closed his eyes and _reached_ – but the Force danced at his fingertips rather than flowing through him.

The anchor was too far out – it wouldn't hold more than another minute or so with their combined weights dangling from it. There was really only one thing he could do, if the anchor slipped much further. He had to prepare to take that action and hope he didn't have to do so. He barely managed to get what he wanted out of his belt to float upwards – _careful – don't drop it – careful_ – it was in his good hand now. Just that little use of the Force had exhausted him.

"You'll be fine, Padawan, just fine, just remember you must move on. Don't look back, just keep moving forward." It was, perhaps, the last lesson he would give.

"Don't let go, Master – don't let go."

"I won't let go," he promised, closing his eyes against the knowledge of what he must do. Time was running out. He would lie to Anakin, to save him, but this was not a lie. He would not let go.

The anchor slid a bit more.

"Hold on, Master."

"I will hold on, Padawan." It was a long way down; too far to survive a fall, even for a Jedi. If he fell, he would be dead when he landed – no lingering death from exposure. He preferred a quick death to a long one, preferably occurring sometime in the far future.

_One can only rarely choose the timing or manner of one's own death_. He remembered saying that to Anakin, once not too long ago. One rarely sees it coming; one rarely chooses to go to it.

"Don't fall, Master – don't die."

_A Jedi does not fear death_.

"I…do only what I must," he whispered, too low for Anakin to hear as he slithered up the cable. "Consider this – your lesson in letting go – and moving forward."

The pressure on the anchor increased; the rope dropped. Obi-Wan looked down and flinched, and up at Anakin, scrabbling to get over the lip of the crevasse. He felt the Force urging Anakin on: _hurry_, but there was not enough time…

… only time enough to save Anakin. _Do or do not_.

One second to decide. One second to hesitate. One second to take Anakin with him if he didn't act. One second to live – and one second to die.

_A Jedi knows not fear_.

He brought the knife to the rope and with one savage stroke, cut it.


	2. In the Silences We Hear Our Hearts

Fingers scrabbled for the edge; fingers clawed and pressed deep as boots kicked for purchase. Shards of snow and ice cascaded down; a fingernail broke under pressure. Up, he had to get up and over. Up and over, he would be safe. Up and over, he could assure that his master was safe. Anakin swallowed hard and slithered over the edge, kicking and squirming though the snow and ice, to collapse on his stomach and do his best not to throw up.

_Hurry!_ The Force screamed through him. The anchor was pulling free and Anakin fought back his panic. He couldn't lose his master, not now, not ever. He had lost his mother to his new life, he had lost the man who had taken him away from his old life to death – and he would not lose Obi-Wan, who guided him in this new life.

He and Obi-Wan had gotten stuck with each other to neither one's joy or satisfaction, or so he had thought; he had quickly come to learn the truth was entirely different. The two of them might not have chosen each other but they chose to make it work. Obi-Wan opened his heart to him with one look, and he with a hug.

He would not lose Obi-Wan. He needed his master ….

He turned to look over his shoulder, but the Force slammed through him demanding he turn his attention away from the edge and forward to the anchor.

Slipping – the anchor was slipping – Force, it was _slipping_! Anakin launched himself in a full body dive, threw himself across the anchor and jammed it into the snow with all the weight of his body upon it; he spat out a mouthful of snow. He was in time. He panted, a wide grin plastered in white spread across his face. In just a moment Obi-Wan would be beside him, rubbing his padawan's bruised stomach, an apologetic grin on his youthful face for the pain incurred on his behalf.

"C'mon, Master – I hurt myself for you!" he shouted as he twisted around and looked for Obi-Wan's bright eyes and red cheeks. "Master – please, you – you're coming, aren't you?"

Only the sigh of the wind flapping his cloak could be heard.

"M…master?" Anakin cried, but only the echo of his cry returned. Obi-Wan was saving his breath as he saved himself, Anakin reasoned, desperate to hold onto hope.

Obi-Wan was coming – had to be coming, any second now – first a hand, then the second, and then his master would be heaving himself over the edge and flopping onto his stomach. He would pant heavily, grin at Anakin, and clasp his arm as his eyes twinkled and he would make some ridiculous joke that was totally stupid and they would both laugh themselves silly from pure relief and he would throw snow in his master's face and Obi-Wan would frown at him and tell him they needed to get a move on and would offer him a hand up and then dump him in the snow and they'd have a snowball fight before moving on….

He wanted to laugh with Obi-Wan at his side, in wet and cold clothes, happy inside even if miserable outside.

_Where_ was Obi-Wan?

He frowned.

He _needed_ Obi-Wan.

Urgent need made him grasp onto the rope – and flinch, for the rope was slack and weightless… he opened his mouth to scream, "Obi-Wan!" before his mind turned the "O" into "Of course!" A slack line meant that his master was even now coming over the edge. Anakin slithered forward to fall into his arms – peered over the edge – and screamed.

Obi-Wan was _gone_ – out of sight. Disappeared without a sound, died without a scream.

"Master!" he screamed into the depths – but there was no reply. Just silence. Obi-Wan _was_ gone.

Anakin stared down into the crevasse with tears frozen on his cheeks and his master's last words like a warm hand on his cheek. "Keep going, Padawan and don't look back – keep going."

He huddled in a ball and cried, until there were no more tears left inside. He cried for his master and he cried for himself, alone once more.

_Master will want me to wait for him. He doesn't like it when I go off without a word. Master is coming; Master always comes. No matter who leaves me, Master comes._

In all the chaos since Jedi first arrived in his life, Obi-Wan was the one constant that Anakin could count on. From family to strangers, from old routine to new, from old life with nothing but hope to a new life with plenty of hope, Obi-Wan Kenobi had been beside him. Master would be disappointed when he climbed over the edge and Anakin was not there, and he didn't want to disappoint his master. He would wait.

Anakin waited, and waited some more, for his master to show up. Obi-Wan would not leave him and he wouldn't leave his master. He would wait; however long it took.

_Jedi don't die_. Unbidden, tears came to his eyes – Qui-Gon Jinn had died. Jedi did die. _Obi-Wan _doesn't die! He scrubbed the tears away. Jedi went to the Force on a pillar of fire, not entombed in ice. That meant his master was alive – had to be alive – and if he waited long enough, Obi-Wan would show up.

Obi-Wan would not abandon him. He would not abandon his master.

And so he sat, and so he waited, arms tucked within his sleeves and his eyes searching – always searching, and his heart listening – always listening.

He shivered, and grew suddenly aware of the lateness of the hour. The lowering sun slanted across the snow in long fingers of gold, each ice crystal a diamond scattered in abandon. Free for the taking, a wonderful sight: fistfuls of gold and precious jewels of ice. Treasure beyond compare; a treasure bought too dear, for its greatest treasure was missing, stolen in ice and soon to be hidden by night.

Anakin would trade it all for his master – his soft laugh arriving with the wind, his mirth-filled eyes in the stars already twinkling faintly above.

_Give me back my master!_ His shout went unheard and unanswered, and he shivered again, and realized he had to move, to do something besides sit. The temperature was dropping fast and night was vanquishing day. Below him, the forest already lay under night's shroud while above him peaks still blazed under the sun, fingers of light piercing the sky as if defying night's arrival.

"I'm not going far!" the padawan shouted to his master. He could not sit there and freeze, not with Obi-Wan coming for him – his master should not have to fight death and win only to find his padawan dead without a fight.

He had to trudge a ways to find the right snow drift – not too far, in case Obi-Wan showed up soon. He didn't want Obi-Wan to think he had left him, should he arrive and not find his padawan and think Anakin had deserted him. He dug into the drift as he had been taught – a sloping tunnel down to a pit and a raised platform within. The pit would catch the cold air; the shelter would keep the temperature near freezing.

Anakin labored without joy for he labored with memories of working side by side at his master's side when Obi-Wan had first taught him the joy of camping in snow. That had been fun, that time, scraping and digging in unison, Obi-Wan's unexpected fistful of snow down his neck and the snowball fight that ensued. That trip, that time, had shown him someone he hadn't known existed within the solemn young man. Naboo had been too recent, too raw, for them both. Time healed all wounds, but little time had then passed.

Smiles had more than touched Obi-Wan's lips; they had touched his eyes, that time. Eyes shone with delight, not just natural luminescence and the restrained chuckles turned to pure laughter.

Wary acceptance of an unwanted master turned, that trip, into full acceptance.

Anakin kneeled, feeling the cold seep into his knees and dampness soak his pant legs as he worked. It had been wise of his master to insist on bringing some metal pieces from the ship with them.

"We might have need of them; we can signal with them or dig with them. They're light enough, just be wary of the sharp edges," Obi-Wan had said, handing one to Anakin and keeping one for himself. Obi-Wan was right; he was learning that Obi-Wan was usually right. The metal made cutting into the snow much easier than using just his fingers, though even with the assistance, his knuckles were soon tender and bleeding, scraped raw by the cold and ice crystals.

He finished his shelter just before the dark could swallow him, but it chained him within his shelter on this moonless night.

It was never so dark on Coruscant; it brought back memories of sleepless nights on Tatooine where only the stars lighted the night – like here, out in the reaches of the galaxy - their light was faint and cold. Darkness lay over him like a smothering blanket, but a blanket that could not be thrown off.

He didn't remember it being so dark their night on Hoth, where Obi-Wan had taught him to walk in snow – up, kick in your toes; down, kick in your heels – demonstrating patiently, only to suddenly dance down the snow with wild abandon and a big shout of delight – "Come on, Padawan, it's easier to jam your heels in when you race down the slope."

He had hesitated – what if he landed face first – but when Obi-Wan stood below with his hands on his hips and a shake of his head, the challenge was met. Anakin ran down the mountain and plowed into his master, sending them both tumbling head over heels as Obi-Wan showed him how to self-arrest with elbows, fingers and feet.

Dripping wet and now cold, they warmed up by digging their snow cave, throwing their bags on the platform and changing into dry clothing before heating dinner. They sat where they could look outside, at the stars, as they ate, and Anakin sneaked a peak at his new master and saw such a look of contentment as he had never before seen.

"You're happy, Master," he stated, leaning against the young man's side as Obi-Wan brought the cloak around them both and wrapped an arm around him.

"For the first time since – then, yes, I think I am," he admitted. "Somehow, out here, I feel that Qui-Gon is here with us, in the Force. As much as I miss him," he blinked and Anakin knew he hid a tear, "yes, we go forward, you and I – all the rest is behind us. We might not have chosen each other, but Anakin - know you are truly _my_ padawan."

The ever changeable eyes gazing at him were not the gray of remembered sorrow that had been so common in the last few weeks – but were blue, steady and clear. This chance to introduce his padawan to snow, to get away alone to cement bonds still forming, to connect back to life ever-continuing had done Obi-Wan good. It released most of the remaining grief that had been there between them, if Anakin reciprocated.

"As _you_ are my master," he had whispered back, letting go of lingering resentment and unrealized dreams. This _wa_s his life now; this man his master, and it would be good, this life. A month or so of sorrow lay behind them, many years stretched ahead.

They had sat shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence until Anakin's yawns had broken the night's peace and they had crawled into their bags and slept. He barely registered Obi-Wan getting up before sunrise, and laughed to himself for drinking much less or having more control so he didn't have to crawl out of bed. He stayed snuggled within warmth as he heard Obi-Wan beat his hands together for warmth until his master pulled him from his warm wrap with a cold hand on his face, to witness the birth of the new day. The sky: a palette painted in gold, red and pink and the snow at their feet the same. The boy from the desert had then realized that snow could be magic, if one treated it with respect, though it could easily bite the unwary or unlucky.

Chasms, whether of poisonous fangs or dangerous depths; jaws with teeth of ivory or caverns of stalactites and stalagmites: everywhere treachery abounded alongside beauty. _Treat it all with respect and watch for the bite_. Obi-Wan's words: he remembered them well.

Shaking off the unpleasant thought – no, Obi-Wan was not bitten by a draigon of ice –

Anakin turned his thoughts away from that time to this time, to _focus_ as Obi-Wan would want.

Huddled in wet clothes, Anakin brought his numb hands awkwardly to his armpits to warm them. Cold, he was ever so cold and his teeth chattered. That first time that had happened, it had startled him, a desert dweller unused to such cold. Obi-Wan had teased him of being a musical prodigy, of prodigious skill with castanets and percussion.

Music to guide his master to him, he could hope.

_When you can't handle it alone, remember you are not alone, you have the Force_. Call on it – it will help you. _Yes, Master_, Anakin sniffled, hearing Obi-Wan's words echo through his mind. He would show his master that he truly listened to his lectures, or at least this one, so he would focus and call on the Force to warm him – and ask its help to warm Obi-Wan, too, out there alone and unsheltered.

"I'm waiting, Master – and Master Qui-Gon, if you are truly out there, find my master and send him back to me," he whispered just before he fell asleep, that night and the next.


	3. What is Hope but the Hearts Yearning

Both mornings Anakin woke with hope in his heart, and two nights he slept with despair, for Obi-Wan could have come, but Obi-Wan had not come.

Three days now: it was the third day since crashing, one full day alone with nothing but his thoughts and his hopes and another day stretching before him. Another day with his apology unspoken, and another day without forgiveness.

He _knew_ Obi-Wan was coming, so where was he? How long had he to wait? How long until his master was at his side with a tired grin and hand poised to tousle his padawan's hair? Anakin hated that, but he looked forward to it. It only took one hand, either one, to drop onto his head, so even with one badly injured arm Obi-Wan could still tease his padawan and chuckle at Anakin's protest.

"Please come soon, Master Obi-Wan. I'm lonely, and hungry, and cold, and I need you." His words were drowned in the silence, swallowed by emptiness, answered by no one. Obi-Wan would _not_ abandon him! Obi-Wan _was _coming! Why didn't Obi-Wan answer?

"Master!" he screamed, stomping his feet.

For the first time, a flicker of fear crawled up his spine, and he angrily pushed it away. Anger was good – anger banished the fear, anger warmed him. Anger gave him strength to face another day, waiting.

Anger kept hope alive so he could scream and yell at Obi-Wan for deserting his padawan when his master finally decided to show up, and anger would give him the strength to fly into his master's arms and sob his fears away.

Anger let him feel, when despair threatened to strip all emotion away to leave him far more numb in spirit than the cold did in body.

To conserve power, Anakin had turned his comlink to _emergency_ signal only, in the process discovering it had been turned off, and sat with knees drawn up, soaking in the last weak warmth of the sun as it slid towards the horizon, soon to disappear from sight. Clouds were coming in and the wind was picking up, so he retreated inside and curled up, and soon fell asleep.

The crunching of boots woke him from troubled sleep late that third day, pulled him from his snow cave even before he was fully awake. _Master has come_. Wild joy flooded him and he burst forth into the flat light with a wide grin on his face which quickly turned to a frown. The rescue party had made it – and Obi-Wan wasn't with them.

What game was his master playing with him? Trying to teach him patience? Impassivity under stress? Survival on his own? If so, they were lessons he did not wish to learn.

The weather had been deteriorating while he slept; at first he did not recognize any of the rescue party. They were Jedi – cloaked, hooded, Anakin could tell that much in the now fading day as a cloud passed overhead. A squall, not a storm, soon to pass; with clouds sliding in and out of valleys and peaks, revealing and concealing in turn.

Would the rescue party stop searching once they found him? Anakin knew Obi-Wan was coming, eventually, because he had to come. It was that simple. The rescue party might think differently: the padawan was alone, two nights now. They probably wouldn't have the same faith in Obi-Wan that Anakin had.

It was too late to consider hiding; a finger was pointed in his direction and all three Jedi looked directly at him. He barely knew Master Aneil, and Master Windu always seemed stern and forbidding, but the third Jedi was Garen Muln, one of his master's best friends. He had liked the young Jedi from their first meeting. Garen had been waiting for them upon their return from Naboo. Though he had been there to offer support and comfort to his grieving friend, he had been kind and accepting to his friend's new padawan.

"Anakin!" Garen shouted happily as he half ran through the snow and dropped to his side, pulling Anakin to him in a quick hug. "Are you hurt? Your master? We're going to get both of you warm and safe in a moment, okay?"

"Pl…please help my master." Anakin's teeth were chattering with cold and relief.

Garen picked up the shivering boy, patting his back as Anakin threw his arms around the Jedi's neck. Mace Windu handed Garen blankets from a pack to wrap around him. Garen first had to pry Anakin loose from his neck to securely wrap him before hugging him tight again. He crouched on the snow, holding him in a reassuring grip as he looked around for Obi-Wan.

The other two Jedi were checking their comlinks and softly calling the missing Jedi's name.

"Where's your master? Where's Obi-Wan?"

"I…don't know," Anakin whispered, burying his head against Garen's shoulder. "I waited and waited, but he hasn't come. Why hasn't he come, Master Garen? He was just over there."

All three Jedi focused their attention where Anakin indicated, but they could see no sign of Obi-Wan, and they exchanged puzzled glances with each other before Mace spoke.

"Where, Anakin?"

"Over there," he nodded, where the anchor still stood before disappearing in a swirl of snow.

"I don't see him – Kenobi?" Mace's words mingled with those from the other two Jedi, before they paused for an answer. None came; the only sound was a soft hiccup of a choked cry from Anakin, muffled by layers of cloth as he pressed his face into Garen's shoulder.

In the half light of twilight, the two Jedi started to search for his master, calling, "Obi-Wan," pausing to listen for any response. They hadn't seen the anchor and cable trailing from it, hidden from sight in the swirling clouds.

The Council member frowned, and directed his next words at Anakin. "Is your master hurt, padawan? We can help him, but we need to find him."

"Where's Obi-Wan, Anakin?" Garen repeated, tilting the boy's head up to look him in the eyes. "I know you're cold and hungry, probably scared, but I bet your master is, too, and the sooner you tell us where to find Obi-Wan, the sooner we'll get both of you back to the ship."

"Master isn't scared!" Anakin tried to shout, but it came out a weak whisper. "Master's never scared. He…he's brave…and he – he - ." Up above the clouds parted suddenly; mountain tips glowed red as the sun flamed its last – and Anakin finally realized that Obi-Wan was dead, carried to the Force by the fire above, not that of flame below.

"He's gone," he whispered as the harsh truth broke over him. Now that he wasn't alone, he could admit it.

"Gone – gone for help? Damn, in this light I can't see tracks – "

"He's gone!" Anakin said again, and something in his voice silenced the Jedi. He turned his head and pointed _over there_, at the edge of the crevasse, where the anchor was again in sight, as it had not been when the rescuers arrived.

"He's down there. I didn't see him fall; I didn't even hear him scream. Before he – hit," he swallowed, "I felt him in my mind. Saying I needed a lesson in letting go, only he's the one who let go. I didn't realize he was – saying goodbye 'til now."

Only the hiss of slowly indrawn breaths betrayed dawning comprehension in the rescuers.

"Why'd he let go? Why did he leave me?" He suddenly started beating at Garen with his fists. "He abandoned me – he left me – I know he was hurt, he was bleeding – how could he leave me –"

"He saved you by sacrificing himself," Mace said, crouching by the anchor and holding up the end of the cable. He looked with compassion at the padawan, clutched tight within Garen's arms and saw the same look of horror on each Jedi's face. "He cut the cable."

"He – killed himself? But, but he wouldn't – he'd never…" Anakin trickled off. Jedi didn't commit suicide. Never. In the direst of need, perhaps they would passively accept death rather than actively resist it, but to chose to die, deliberately and with full knowledge – "He'd never, Master's the bestest Jedi ever when it comes to following the rules."

Sapphire eyes, dull with shock, stared at the cable – at the end of hope. Severed, by his own master's hand. Fallen: Obi-Wan had let himself fall into the jaws of the chasm – willingly - all too ready to leave his padawan behind.

"Tell us what happened, Anakin," Master Aneil urged, squatting before him, eyestalks quivering with the cold. "Can you tell us?"

With three Jedi looking at him, Anakin held back his sobs. Reality had set in and he wanted to cry inconsolably, but Jedi didn't cry. He knew, because Obi-Wan didn't – he had always held back his tears. Even on Naboo, except a time or two when he had thought he was alone. Jedi didn't cry, especially in front of other Jedi.

In a voice devoid of emotion, he said, "Master was badly hurt when we – we landed. His head was…was bloody and I think his arm really hurt. We…we… and he…he threw his cable and he…stopped but I was falling and he…he grabbed me. The anchor was f…failing, we could feel it each time it slipped. He…he told me to climb above him – if I hadn't – if I hadn't obeyed him he'd be alive…I was almost in time, I was, to hold the anchor…but instead of waiting for me…he left me. He c..c..cut… "

"If he hadn't, perhaps both of you would be dead," Mace said; his face grim and shuttered. "Your master chose to die alone, rather than take you with him."

"One is rarely granted the chance to choose his own death…" Garen muttered, and to his surprise, felt Anakin nod in agreement.

"Master told me that too, once. He chose to leave me, it was his choice, he left me…he left me," and Anakin broke into sobs in Garen's arms, unable to hold them back any longer.

Holding Anakin tight, the Jedi slowly stood; his face ashen but composed. "No, Anakin. Obi-Wan didn't leave you. Obi-Wan let his padawan live – he chose life for you, not death for himself."


	4. Ghosts of the Past

This final loss was devastatingNow Anakin had no one who really cared for him. He hadn't made any real friends at the Temple yet. Obi-Wan had told him it would take time, to stop trying so hard, that his age mates didn't quite know how to react to him. He felt like an intruder dropped into a close-knit family and expected to fit right in.

It was awkward, and not just for him. Anakin heard the wary congratulations, brief words of condolences, and uneasy respect that met his master in all too many situations. A padawan who lost his master; a Jedi who killed a Sith, the young master to a boy of prophecy – and always, the one that Qui-Gon Jinn had tried to cast off for another. All Anakin had to do to decipher the gestures was to look at Obi-Wan's eyes to see what color they were.

His master never spoke of it, his own uneasiness in this new role. Yet speak of his padawan's unease he would do and try to reassure him that he would find his place shortly. Because the same could be said of his master, Anakin would agree: shortly, it wouldn't be long now.

And he would hurt inside, just a bit, when he understood what was not _said _about Obi-Wan, for it could so easily be _not_ _said _about him. Words, spoken or not, he was sensitive about, quick to react to, even if his master told him to just let it be and give it – _them_ - time.

And now words carried on the wind, more words to flay his already bleeding heart. Aneil had lit a glow rod and in its light, he and Mace were conferring as Garen carried him to warmth and food, to the ship not far away. Anakin vaguely heard Mace say to Master Aneil, back at the crevasse edge, "We'll try to recover Obi-Wan's body tomorrow for a proper funeral. If we can't, we will have to leave it behind."

It was a calm voice bare of inflection, not sorry and not sad. Spoken as if _Obi-Wan_ was a thing, an object to be recovered. The spirit may have flown the shell, but the shell was the spirit made visible, and thus had meaning.

So Anakin stiffened at the words, "body," and especially, "it," in reference to his master. No, it wasn't reality, it wasn't, it wasn't. Garen tucked him closer to his own warmth and used his comlink to call Bant to expect a patient.

"Bant's here?" A tiny voice asked, and Garen looked down and nodded.

Bant Eerin was another of Obi-Wan's childhood friends, a healer, and Anakin sniffed. First Garen, then Bant. He didn't want to face either one, not without Obi-Wan, for he was sure that neither of them wanted to face him, without Obi-Wan.

He clung to Garen's neck, wishing it were his master's neck he was hanging onto; the arms around him, his master's arms. Obi-Wan had never held him, seemed uncomfortable with so many physical gestures that Anakin craved. His mom had kissed him, Qui-Gon had lifted him onto his shoulders – and Obi-Wan had – he had – wrapped an arm around him that night on Hoth. Would his master have ever held him, had he lived? Tucked Anakin's head between his head and his shoulder, and patted him on the back, as Master Garen was doing? Would he have had the chance to feel safe and protected within his arms, feeling the strong, steady beat of a heart against his?

He pressed his nose into Garen's shoulder and sniffled. He wanted his master's arms, no matter how comforting Master Garen's were.

Warm light spilled from the ship's open entryway. Home, safety, it beckoned, but to a small boy it seemed only to emphasize the dark emptiness surrounding his master. Anakin twisted his head to look back over Garen's shoulder. He was being taken away from his master, taken to the light while Obi-Wan was left to the dark.

He kept his eyes focused on the darkness even as Garen hurried him up the ramp and inside the ship. It seemed warm inside, even to his chilled body, and the ship, while large, was so much smaller than the expanse outside. A ship, fast and nimble, with two small cabins, one set up like a mini-medical ward; a ship built for quick extractions from dangerous situations. In normal circumstances, Anakin would have jumped to explore it; he only buried his head against Garen.

What fun was exploration, when he couldn't try his master's infinite patience with a hurried tale of his discoveries?

"I'm cold and I'm hungry," he mumbled into Garen's shoulder as the Jedi set him down on a ready bunk.

"I know," Garen soothed as Bant stepped forward and quickly took charge. She threw a quick questioning look at Garen, and the slow shake of his head drained the color from her skin. In that wordless exchange, she knew that if she were to see her friend again, it would be only the body he had once inhabited. Obi-Wan was now a part of the Force, a part of them, always there, but never visible and never heard - near, but always far away.

"I want Master." A simple statement, full of longing and empty of hope.

"I know," Garen hushed him, as he fumbled to loosen Anakin's grip on him.

"We need to get him out of those wet clothes," Bant instructed her fellow Jedi, and Anakin flushed.

"Like master, like padawan," Garen teased, before a frown from Bant shut him up. She wrapped a warm blanket around Anakin as the Jedi pulled off the boy's boots and wet clothing. After taking Anakin's vital signs and checking for signs of frostbite, Bant let Garen slip Anakin into dry clothing before rewrapping him in blankets and allowing him to lie back against the pillow, several glasses of warm liquid near at hand. Through it all, Anakin was strangely silent, with only a slight quiver of his lips betraying his emotions.

Bant asked no questions, for which Anakin was grateful. He couldn't talk about Obi-Wan, not now, how he had waited and waited, and how a part of him still rebelled against the idea that his master was dead.

He closed his eyes and shut himself away from Bant and Garen, still fighting reality. He huddled miserably in his bunk, grateful when the other Jedi went away and left him alone.

Tears were elusive, for which Anakin was grateful. Tears would only emphasize how alone he was, for tears always brought his master to his side. That night on Naboo, he had woken from sleep sobbing as he had never before sobbed, knowing his mother wasn't there to hug the tears away. He had opened his eyes and Obi-Wan was padding barefoot to his side, his eyes red and disheveled, looking as he had never before or since seen his master. With a backhanded swipe across his eyes and a catch in his throat, Obi-Wan had dropped to his knees beside the bed and hesitantly extended his arms – and Anakin had turned away from him that time, too.

Now he regretted those times he had not allowed Obi-Wan to comfort him – and suddenly wondered - had Obi-Wan also needed Anakin's comfort, only to be rejected? Maybe that was why his master kept his distance; would only come and lay a hand on his arm when Anakin's tears woke him and brought him padding in barefoot. Obi-Wan never said anything, just sat at his side and maybe, if Anakin allowed, brushed a tear from his cheek, waiting until after Anakin fell asleep before leaving.

No, tears would only emphasize how alone he was, for tears always brought his master to his side. Tears tonight would not, tonight tears would only show how empty that spot beside him was. There was too much emptiness already, all within him.

Once he had had nothing but hope, then he had been given hope in abundance. Now…even that had been taken from him…unless he believed…and wished…and continued to hope….

Once away from Anakin and in the small corridor, Bant stopped and looked at her friend. It would hurt, but she needed to know how Obi-Wan's life had ended.

"Tell me," she requested, her voice soft, and Garen nodded. Folding his arms, he leaned against a bulkhead, looking infinitely weary.

"From what I gather, they fell into a crevasse and Obi-Wan was able to stop their fall. He was hurt from their crash landing already, and I guess didn't have the strength to use the Force to reinforce the anchor which was slipping. He had grabbed Anakin and both of them were hanging on one line. He sent Anakin up first, but I gather he thought there wasn't time and he – well, he cut the cable. He fell – it was a long way down, Bant. Obi – he – it's been two nights now."

"Oh, Obi," Bant breathed. "He's truly dead, then – there's no chance…."

"Practically none," Garen said, shaking his head, his brown eyes full of pain. "No, he's dead, Bant, even if he somehow survived the fall – two nights without shelter, already hurt? Obi-Wan has rejoined the Force. Just look into Anakin's eyes if you have any doubt. He knows."

While Obi-Wan had been far more capable of concealing and dealing with his emotions, his expressive eyes had reflected the same grief and disbelieving comprehension after his master's death on Naboo. The mirthful and wry friend they knew had been submerged in solemnity, but they had understood why, as details of those last few days had slowly surfaced. Few knew all the details, Obi-Wan had kept much to himself, as he usually did, but his two closest friends had coaxed some of the story from him, knowing that to speak of it would help release the internalized emotions that their friend had not yet been able to release.

Shamed of his reaction, Obi-Wan reluctantly admitted to having been hurt by and angry at his master for what he took as his casual dismissal in front of the Council, and though the two Jedi had repaired the breach in their relationship before Qui-Gon's death, the scars had only begun to heal.

Neither friend could comprehend Qui-Gon's actions in front of the Council and were surprised that Obi-Wan wasn't entirely devastated by it: to be dismissed before one's knighting was tantamount to declaring the padawan unworthy, though their friend was considered one of the best padawans in the Order. They knew Qui-Gon was more than satisfied with Obi-Wan's abilities; his pride restrained but obvious. Qui-Gon would never deliberately hurt his padawan, yet, he had.

It _was_ entirely possible that the master had been preparing to put his padawan up for the trials, but reluctant to let go until forced to take a stand. If that were so, Obi-Wan had had no idea and only thought his master had dismissed him in favor of another.

Then so shortly after, witnessing his master's death while unable to intervene, fighting for his very life while trying to stay in the light, taking a life…his sudden promotion to knight…even Obi-Wan's steady temperament had been all but overwhelmed. Only long years of Jedi training had helped the new knight deal with everything.

Anakin had no such training to fall back on: he was a boy who clung to what he knew. Though Bant was sure he had not had the same deep emotional connection to his master that Obi-Wan had - at least yet - she knew he had developed a deep affection for his master, as Obi-Wan had for him.

"It's going to be hard on Anakin…I know Obi's been trying to teach him detachment and how to release his emotions, but with Obi struggling so hard after Qui-Gon's death… poor Obi, I knew he felt he wasn't much of a role model to his apprentice."

"I thought he was handling it well," Garen protested. "I mean, I know he misses Qui-Gon, but he slips so easily now into acceptance. That whole business on Naboo just put him into such alignment with the Force -."

"You saw how quiet he was when Anakin wasn't around and how his eyes would get so unfocused," Bant corrected Garen, shaking her head. "He was so tired, because every time he closed his eyes he saw Qui-Gon dying in front of him and knew he was helpless. He told me for a week he'd wake up every night crying or to the sound of Anakin crying, sometimes both. Why did you think his eyes were so red?"

"Because Anakin would wake him up in the middle of night and he – oh! I knew he wasn't sleeping well that first week." Garen sucked in his breath and shook his head. "That's what he meant – is that why you and Yoda were talking to him that first morning after his return just outside the Room of a Thousand Fountains?"

"He'd gone there to meditate and Yoda found him sound asleep on a bench. He's pretty fond of Obi; I think he was keeping an eye on him. He gave Obi an ultimatum: one week and if he wasn't sleeping, he'd be given a sleep suggestion or sent to the healers, and how would that look to his padawan. You should have seen Obi's face; then Yoda actually patted him on the arm and hobbled away."

The words, or the threat, had seemed to help, perhaps the countless hours Obi-Wan spent in meditation as Anakin was in class. The growing bond between the master and apprentice had also helped, and as Obi-Wan gradually started some one-on-one training with Anakin, some of the scars had begun to heal as he settled into his new life.

"He finally left it behind him and was happy," Bant said. "After he and Anakin went to Hoth he laughed again, his eyes twinkled when he smiled…Garen, I'll miss him, but if Obi could finally let go of his master, we can let go of Obi, right?"

Garen pulled Bant into his arms and the two friends hugged, consoling each other before facing the other two Jedi. They would allow themselves this moment of weakness before releasing their grief into the Force, as Obi-Wan would want. They would need to be strong and help Obi-Wan's padawan deal with his loss.

Aneil and Mace sat silently in the other cabin, hot drinks in hand. Mace rubbed a hand over his eyes, and asked calmly as the two friends entered, "How is young Anakin?"

"Medically, he's fine," Bant said, sitting down. "I don't know how he's handling Obi's death; he's not talking. I'm not sure he accepts it; I don't know if you should – let him see Obi-Wan or not, once you recover his body."

"If," Mace said. He nodded stiffly at Bant's soft exclamation. "We won't risk losing anyone to recover his body. We don't even know if we can get to it."

The Council member was correct, of course. No one should be placed in danger to recover a body. It wasn't Obi-Wan lying out there, somewhere. That life was back in the Force. Still, Bant closed her eyes; she couldn't imagine leaving Obi-Wan's body behind, alone on a strange planet. It seemed like a cruel abandonment. Just then Garen caught her eyes; he laid a hand over his heart and looked steadily at her: Obi-Wan continued to live, in their hearts, and that was what was important. She nodded and touched her head: They would keep their friend alive in both their hearts and minds.

The four Jedi sat with little conversation amongst them. What was there to say? The words would be said at the service – the funeral pyre most likely empty, the spirit already traveled to the Force. The weather, as well as night fall, had precluded them getting a good look down the crevasse. Unspoken was the thought: _was_ it possible, no matter how unlikely, for Obi-Wan to be still alive? And if so, could he possibly survive another night? Could they recover his body?

After this time, they knew there was little chance of his being alive. The odds were against it, and only that fact gave them a bit of hope, for only Obi-Wan Kenobi beat impossible odds. Their heat sensors had found only one sign of life: Anakin, a weak signal indeed. That and the emergency code on the comlink had zeroed them in to his location; no such signal came from elsewhere. Obi-Wan's comlink was as silent as he was, as silent as the Force regarding his fate.

Garen shivered and wrapped his arms around his body. "I'm sorry," he muttered, when Mace looked at him. "We grew up together. It's hard." Bant leaned her head against him and nodded.

Surprising the others, Mace nodded also. If anything, he looked sterner than usual. "I know. I watched him grow up – pushed him hard – I had expected someday he would sit on the Council." He frowned at their looks. "Obi-Wan always showed he had the potential to become a great Jedi, even with his somewhat rocky early years. Yoda and I – we both had high expectations for him. I know it's hard, but as Jedi we all know what we need to do."

Garen's eyes were drawn to Mace's hand, fingers slowly tapping against his knee. The Council member seemed perfectly calm and accepting, but his hands had betrayed him.

Mace stilled his fingers when he noticed Garen's look and stared at his hands, now clasped in his lap. "I will miss young Kenobi, as I missed Qui-Gon Jinn when he died. It does take some time to accept the loss of a – friend. Don't think I do not understand."

He would have stepped in as surrogate master to Obi-Wan, had the padawan not proven himself ready to be knighted on Naboo, following Qui-Gon Jinn's death. Instead, he had offered the young knight his counsel if he ever wished it. Obi-Wan had, not unexpectedly, been surprised by the offer and humbled by it, for he had felt the sting of Mace's censure several times during his younger years.

"You will someday rejoice at his return home to the Force," Master Aneil said softly. "I did not know Obi-Wan Kenobi well, but I know he accepted death when it came. Cutting the cable to save his padawan proves that. I lost my first padawan, quite young; I too grieved for a time. You will of course mourn the young man, but then you will release it, and one day you will rejoice for having known him and for his return home."

"One day…," Bant echoed, and fought back tears. One day her memories would comfort her, now, they only hurt. "Someday. I should go check on – on Obi's padawan. Then I think I will be going straight to my bunk. Good night."

None of them moved as she left. Master Aneil sat with eyes closed in meditation, Mace Windu sat silently with quiet face and frown, and Garen sat with his head in his hands – all still, all quiet, all alone with their thoughts. Seeking release, each in his own way.

Bant entered the medical cabin quietly in case Anakin was sleeping. Stars twinkled faintly through the cabin's transparisteel panel and cast no light, but there was faint illumination from outside. In the dim light, Bant could see that Anakin was awake and staring at, apparently, nothing, as she approached his side.

"Hi, kiddo, how are you feeling?" Bant sat by his side, ignoring the slow tears trickling from the boy's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bant," and the heart break in the young voice mirrored that in Bant's heart. She drew the blanket up to his chin and patted him on the shoulder.

"For what? You did nothing wrong."

Anakin shifted uneasily and his eyes finally met Bant's; he shrugged.

Wasn't just being alive, when his master was dead, wrong? When the two of them had committed to each as master and padawan, they had sworn to protect each other. Their oath was not idle words, as Obi-Wan had already proved. Obi-Wan had promised to protect his padawan with his life, and he had.

Anakin had promised to protect and save his master – and he had not. He _knew_ he was born to save people. After Qui-Gon's death he had vowed he would never lose anyone he cared about again. Never. He had let himself down, as well as Obi-Wan.

"I'm supposed to save him."

To his surprise, Bant nodded and touched a finger to his cheek, wiped a tear away and for a moment he was reminded of his mother and her gentleness. He wanted his mother to gather him into her arms and kiss his tears away, to share his grief, and he realized he missed his mother not just for herself, but her help in dealing with Obi-Wan's death. As much as he missed his mother, at the moment he missed his master more, for this loss was irrevocable and his death was his fault.

"You did save him, though, Ani. In a way. Obi died knowing you were safe, because you obeyed him, and he knew if you listened to him, you would be alive when rescue came. He would have died happy knowing his death had purpose. He died so that you would live."

Anakin's fingers tightened on the edge of the blanket. As if that was supposed to make him feel better. Obi-Wan was still dead. Obi-Wan couldn't forgive him, but maybe Bant would. He had an urge to confess, now, while he could speak of it. Let Bant get upset with him, so then he wouldn't feel so dead inside. Was this how guilt felt, or was the numbness he hated actually keeping the pain away? He didn't want to feel worse, he didn't deserve to feel better, and he most certainly didn't merit Bant's understanding.

"I killed him," he suddenly blurted out.

"No, Ani. You didn't."

Bant didn't understand. If she did, even mild-mannered Bant would be upset with him, even perhaps raise her voice as she scolded him. He didn't want to see the scorn and anger in her eyes, but something within him demanded he speak the truth, now, or forever hide it inside. Anakin drew a deep breath; then spoke in a rush before he changed his mind.

"Master pointed out a safe route; then he trusted me to lead the way. I was worried, 'cuz he didn't look well and I thought this other way would be quicker down, and that way too, I could get a look in that crack that he wanted us to stay well away from. Master didn't seem to notice when I got near the edge, maybe because he had his hand to his head like it hurt. I don't really remember what happened next – I think I slipped and – and I think Master came running. I remember – I just remember Master stumbling and then he was flying over the edge and since we were tied together I fell after him and then he stopped and then I stopped when he grabbed me."

He fell silent, waiting for the condemnation he was sure he was going to hear. He disobeyed a lot – not really on purpose – and Obi-Wan always said something in _that tone_ that made him feel bad and decide to be better – but he had never disobeyed to the extent of actually harming anyone. And now his master was dead, and Bant was going to punish him.

He finally dared to look at her; the look on her face both humbled and stung him. Stunned comprehension predominated; shock and horror were quickly replaced by compassion. Only the hitch in her voice betrayed her as she swallowed hard before speaking.

"You were wrong to disobey Obi, but you didn't kill your master, Ani. It was an accident. You know that, don't you? And you obeyed him after he fell -."

Anakin's eyes fell away from the soft silver eyes facing him as he interrupted. "I didn't obey him, though, Bant – I was supposed to keep going, down to the forest, build a fire. He told me to keep going, but I didn't. I only sat – I didn't even look for him. I just waited for him to come to me, because I knew – he would. But he won't, will he?"

The silence drew his eyes back up. This time he saw tears glistening in Bant's silver eyes, and he knew he wasn't the only one who missed his master.

"No. He's not coming back. He's gone, Anakin."

Anakin nodded, and scrubbed his eyes. "I think I know that. I think I always knew that, but he _promised_. He promised he would hang on; he promised to be there for me and I – I miss him."

He would not cry. He would _not_. Jedi didn't cry. Obi-Wan would not cry; neither would he. Even if his heart was broken.

"It's okay to cry, Anakin."

In the darkness, Anakin couldn't see Bant's face. He knew only that her fingers softly stroked his hair and her voice was gentle and understanding. He shook his head.

She felt the movement under her fingertips, his denial. "Why not?"

"Master doesn't – didn't cry. Not ever. Even when he wanted to. 'Cuz Jedi don't cry."

He was gathered in arms smelling faintly of salt, the smell he always associated with Bant and therefore all Mon Calamarians.

"Obi-Wan cried," she assured him. "Usually inside, where the tears would not be seen; he thought no one knew. He never cried in front of you because he thought he needed to be strong in front of you. He knew your opinion of him, that you were – ah – didn't want to be his padawan."

"He didn't want me, either." It was a truth that had turned around, but a truth all the same.

The healer searched for words. It was all too evident that Anakin thought and felt differently than Jedi raised in the Temple from birth. Explaining the trying circumstances that brought Obi-Wan and Anakin together, something neither one had initially wanted, was difficult.

"He thought he was losing his master to you. He had a very human reaction; even Obi was never a perfect Jedi. No Jedi is. He and Qui-Gon reconciled before – before everything that happened later, and suddenly your master's life had turned totally around."

She could still hear the underlying note of bewilderment in Obi-Wan's voice when she and Garen had met him on his return from Naboo. He was back in familiar surroundings, and nothing was familiar. He was a knight, with a padawan, back in a place where he had never been anything but the padawan himself.

"Obi-Wan was just a padawan himself, a padawan without his master, and suddenly he was responsible for you and in a life he hadn't expected yet. He had killed for the first time, and he didn't take that lightly. And yet, he said one of the hardest things he ever had to do was to tell you that Qui-Gon was dead."

"I thought I hated him then," Anakin admitted, something he had never before said out loud. He wouldn't tell Bant, as he had never told his master, but that day he had wished that Obi-Wan had been the one to die and Qui-Gon had been the one to live. He would have accepted that with few regrets and no real sorrow. Instead, Obi-Wan had come into the room where he celebrated success with Padme, her guards, the other pilots. Anakin had jumped up, looking for Qui-Gon behind that young man that Qui-Gon would have given up for Anakin, but Obi-Wan was alone. He was solemn and calm, every inch of him a Jedi – until one looked into his eyes and saw how vulnerable he was underneath.

Obi-Wan had come straight to him and kneeled before him, placing his hands on the boy's shoulders. "I'm sorry, I – I couldn't save him. Qui-Gon Jinn is dead." He swallowed hard, and slowly stood up as Anakin turned away from him and turned to Padme for comfort.

"He knew, Anakin, he knew exactly what you thought of him, but it didn't matter. What Qui-Gon asked of him didn't matter. You were what mattered to him at that moment. He told me that was when he released his doubts – about his ability to be a master to a boy who didn't want him as a master – when he told you about Qui-Gon's death. He said when he looked in your eyes, he saw into your heart – and into his. Not even being knighted meant as much to him as when you accepted him as your master."

"Really, Bant?" He was hearing things about his master that he had never dreamed of. Obi-Wan rarely showed what he felt. He hadn't been terribly certain about his place in the new knight's life – that night under the stars on Hoth had been the most intimate moment they had shared.

"Really, Anakin."

"I love him." The admission came easy, with Bant's hand still stroking him.

"He loved you."

"He died because of me," a weary sigh, an admission of loss.

"He died for you."


	5. Visions of the Dead

Under the clearing skies, the ship sat on its blanket of white, hull silently gleaming with reflections from running lights that were left on, though no one could say why – perhaps, it was unimportant, distant from thought on this mournful night.

None of the Jedi looked forward to the morning, for none truly wished to find confirmation of their worst fears: finding Obi-Wan pale and still in death and snow dusting unseeing eyes that had once shone so brightly. None of them, either, wished to leave him behind, those same eyes staring forever sightlessly into eternity.

They were Jedi, but they were also human, all except Aneil, and there was something deep within them that demanded certain duties to the dead. It was human of them to wish to close those once luminous eyes, to say a final goodbye, to bring Obi-Wan home so that his fellow Jedi could pay their final respects and release their grief as the body was sent to join the spirit in the Force.

Jedi or not, there was still something in them that wished for the impossible and dared to dream of the unlikely – finding Obi-Wan, somehow, alive. He wasn't, of course, could not be, but – still…they needed confirmation of his death to move on, before they moved on, for once they left this planet, they would not return. Should they be forced to leave without finding his body, it would always be a haunting fear: had they left one of theirs behind, still alive, only to die.

Aneil and Mace were sound asleep, years of experience in dealing with tragedy and grief serving them well. Garen and Bant each slept restlessly, thoughts of Obi-Wan over the years intruding on their rest. Weariness and grief pushed Anakin, finally, to sleep, his arms unconsciously reaching out for his master, giving Obi-Wan something to come home to.

Anakin dreamed that night of his master. Obi-Wan was here, coming to him…_feel his presence, reach out to him. _Obi-Wan! Master! He could feel him: the tiny glow in his mind that was the training bond, open; feel him, the certainty of his presence nearby. The dream pulled him awake, positive that Obi-Wan sat by his side, watching over him as he did when Anakin was sick or had nightmares, a warm hand resting on his arm and a gentle smile creasing his face.

"Master!" he whispered, waking with a joyful smile, collapsing back on his pillow with tears in his eyes. There was no warm weight on his arm and no smiling face at his side. He lay alone, shivering under the weight of several warm blankets, and wondering illogically if the dead also shivered. He was cold, far colder than the temperature warranted. Cold, like a man outside in the snow for far too long. Cold, like the chill of death that had claimed his master.

The cold called to him and he had to obey, for the cold was of the Force. _Go, you must go, for tomorrow you leave. By his side you must be tonight. _

There would be no funeral pyre for Obi-Wan, for no body would be found; no body recovered. The depths had swallowed all sign of his master and forever would Obi-Wan slumber deep within his tomb. Anakin knew this in a way he couldn't explain and knew that he had to spend that final night in vigil as the Force whispered, far above where his master lay below. He could not sleep, warm and whole, inside, as his master lay dead and broken, outside.

He dressed, wrapped blankets around him, slipped on his now dry boots and carefully jumped from a cargo access, not daring to lower the ramp and awaken the sleeping Jedi. He needed to be alone for this and he needed to be allowed to do this.

Anakin trudged forward, careful where his footsteps led him, yet not caring if one misstep took him to his master's side. A master and a padawan belonged together, but Obi-Wan hadn't wanted his padawan to die with him. He had chosen to leave his padawan alone, grieving and in pain – leaving Anakin in the same pain that Obi-Wan had been left in when _his_ master had died.

Even if Obi-Wan had tried to hide it from him, he knew how much his master had suffered: the sorrow and the grief he tucked within his heart and that shone deep within his eyes. It had lightened a lot, that trip in the snow, but it had not entirely disappeared.

How could his master wish that same fate for him? His master had not just allowed, but chosen, to leave his padawan alone once more, abandoning him to both fate and the Force. He was a child of prophecy, but a child of destiny as well – a destiny of being left behind, adrift and alone.

At last, the forlorn anchor stood before him, leaning at an impossible angle, the only marker to his master's final resting place. It mocked him, standing in the snow: _here you failed, I stand here as witness_. Anakin whimpered, for if he hadn't stopped to catch his breath, if he had directly thrown himself on the anchor the very moment he came over the edge, he would have given his master another second or two to hang on, another second or two which would have saved his life.

His foot suddenly lashed out, knocking the anchor free, but without any weight on it, it merely fell over and lay there, accusing him with its presence. "It's your fault! You didn't hold! If you had just stayed in place, Master would not have needed to die!" He kicked it again, a second time, and it flew into the air and disappeared.

What if it landed on Obi-Wan? Sharp edges digging into flesh, shredding clothing, piercing an eye? Noooooo! His master didn't need that indignity added – and what would Garen, Bant, say when they found his master's crumpled body with an anchor stuck in him?

His fault. Everything was his fault! Obi-Wan would be alive if he hadn't been so curious. Obi-Wan would be alive if his padawan had just been faster and more focused. Obi-Wan would be alive if Anakin just followed instructions and listened to his master.

Anakin dropped to his knees in the snow, meaning to apologize, hoping the Force would carry his master's forgiveness to him. He had been truly worried about Obi-Wan, the way he stumbled behind Anakin and the slightly glazed look in his eyes; the way he had not protested when Anakin changed course.

He had allowed a boy who had only been on snow once to shepherd him down the mountain, an injured man. He had allowed Anakin to lead them both into danger, because of both concern and curiosity. He had allowed Anakin to lead them into danger where Obi-Wan had no choice but to die, to save his padawan.

It was Obi-Wan's fault that his padawan was alone and grieving. It was Obi-Wan's fault that his body would remain buried forever within ice, and it was Obi-Wan's fault that Garen and Bant hurt as much as he.

"I hate you!"

His hate was unanswered, alone in the night. That was when Anakin finally and irrevocably knew that Obi-Wan was dead. He had not truly known it before, as he did now. Before – before he had come to admit it, in his mind if not his heart. Now – now he _knew_ it. Obi-Wan would not allow his padawan to hate. Obi-Wan had seen hate, felt its fingers touch him and nearly take him, and would not allow it anywhere near his padawan. Facing hate, feeling hate, renouncing hate – that was Obi-Wan's trial; that had been his passage to knighthood. Obi-Wan knew hate and Obi-Wan would not allow it.

"I **– hate – **you!"

The words rang in the air, echoed amongst peaks and came back untouched – Obi-Wan was not there to fight the hate with him. Obi-Wan would never be with him again.

"I hate you," he repeated, softly this time. That was when the tears came, and the words were the opposite of truth.

As if the words had the power to summon the dead, a shimmering apparition built of ice stumbled and wavered into view. Anakin scrubbed his eyes hard; for a moment he thought that Obi-Wan was coming towards him, a ghost, or a demon, clad in white robes and pale of skin, crowned by a halo of blood.

The dead, summoned by his mind; the dead, summoned by his hate. A specter, a ghost, something his mind created to torment him in his grief and anger.

"Go away," he shrieked. "My master is dead, I don't want to see you, go away, go away, go away."

The ghost fell to its knees and one arm reached out weakly, its lips moved like it was trying to utter words, but it neither spoke or went away.

"Go 'way!" For a startled moment, Anakin thought the ghost had obeyed, for it had vanished from sight. He stood up, and saw that the ghost was collapsed on the ground.

It was trying to trick him. It wanted to lure him to its side. He could see an arm, reaching – reaching for him.

He was a Jedi, and he wasn't scared of ghosts. He would make that ghost disappear.

"Go 'way, go 'way," Anakin shouted, running to the ghost and pummeling it with his fists, striking blow after blow as the ghost stared at him with dead eyes. "Master's dead, Master's dead – I don't want to see you – leave me alone…," and he screamed as one chilly arm of death reached him, wrapped itself around him, and squeezed.


	6. Do or Do Not

_Don't look down_.

_Down is death. Up is life. Up isn't that far above us, but down is infinitely further. I grab Anakin before he falls to the depths; he dangles not far below me; my heart is much further down – down below where it meant to cushion his fall had my arm failed me._

_Now is not the time to remember I dislike heights almost as much as flying, and for the same reasons. Unplanned landings have a tendency to hurt._

_Why am I hanging here? I don't have time to wonder why I, or my padawan, are in this position. I am, and Anakin is. Now is the time for action – for I feel our anchor will not hold long. Each breath may be our last._

_How to get out of this situation matters. How I – we – got into it, does not. I do not remember how or why we arrived in this position; I know only that we did fall into it. _

_Even I roll my eyes at that one. Stop joking, Kenobi: focus. I've been in this position before. I know how to get out of it, but this time I do not feel the Force respond as usual, and this time I have another life – literally – in my hands. _

_My padawan. I swore to protect him, when I told him that my master – his hoped for master – was dead. That oath was in my heart, as it was later spoken by my lips as we formally bonded before the Council. I will do anything I must, to protect him._

_I hope that I will not have to take the action I wish not to. I fear I must; I will, if I must._

_At least it will be quick – I will die the second my flesh slams into the ice below. Perhaps a stalagmite may piece my heart as the Sith's blade had pierced my master's – like master, like padawan. The grisly humor in the thought almost cheers me. I won't mind dying with a smile on my face. It is better than dying with a scream on my lips. Easier on Anakin, too, if they are able to recover my body._

_Anakin! His life demands mine. It is a price I am willing to pay. Now is not the time to think of him. Now is the time to think of saving him. I can think of him as I fall to the unseen depths. I will have a few seconds – more than enough and yet not enough._

_Just seconds to live; just one second to die. I hope it is quick, I don't fear death, but I do not look forward to the dying._

"You'll be fine, Padawan, just fine, just remember you must move on. Don't look back, just keep moving forward." It is, perhaps, the last lesson I will teach him.

"Don't fall, Master – don't die."

_A Jedi does not fear death_. Fear, no; anticipate, that neither. I have no wish to hurry to it, but my arm cannot hold much longer and I fear once my grip on the cable slips, the shift of my body weight entirely onto the cable's attachment at my belt will dislodge the anchor – violently – and send us both tumbling into the depths.

Not even seconds remain. I sense time is running out, for us both, if I don't act and soon.

"I…do only what I must," I whisper, too low for Anakin to hear as he slithers up the cable. He must focus on getting _up_, for _up_ is life. "Consider this – your lesson in letting go – and moving forward."

It isn't easy; I know this all too well. Even for a Jedi. I have known mourning, and I have learnt how to recover from it: how to take the emptiness and sorrow – yes, even anger – and let the emotions flow into the Force. It was not until I let those emotions go that I could replace them with comforting memories. Qui-Gon Jinn died, never again at my side. Qui-Gon Jinn now lives, always in my heart. I have learned this. I hope Anakin learns it quicker than I – I hope he quickly lets me go. _Let me go, Anakin, let me go _– I shall not care, but I do care for you and for you, I wish this.

Salt stings my eyes; I blink the tears away. Tears of pain, I tell myself, letting myself believe it, for my shoulder aches abominably. It throbs and pulses and screams defiance into the Force and I – I am unable to release the pain, not with the dull throb in my skull and the dizziness that accompanies it. Tears of pain, not grief, for I do not grieve for myself. I grieve for Anakin. I grieve for my soon-to-be master-less padawan; our bond is not as deep yet as that between my master and I, but a bond nonetheless and it _will_ hurt.

_Less than a second. Life or death, his and mine, his or mine; my choice, my hands. _

_I only return home – so I give myself back to the Force as I return custody of Anakin to its hands, for he was never mine, he was only given to my temporary guardianship. _

_I smile as I raise the knife. I have strength enough for this; I have enough strength to save Anakin and so – with one swing …._

…_I fall._

_And I will die…_

Obi-Wan twisted in mid-air as he fell, eyes searching the blur of white for something, anything he could use to save himself, even if salvation proved only temporary, far too focused on saving himself if he could to even scream as he plummeted into the depths…

…the Force chose that moment to course through Obi-Wan, sluggish and weak, but strong enough to help guide the Jedi's actions. _Tuck, bring your knees to your chest, now extend your legs. __Kick off that projection, use your momentum to roll into a somersault, now reach_…and Obi-Wan slammed into the opposite wall of the chasm. _Reach_ – and a hand reached out and grabbed, and arrested his fall. Once more he hung from one arm. His good arm was now almost in as bad a shape as the shattered one.

Since there was no one to hear; he allowed himself to whimper.

Panting with relief and adrenaline, dizzy, Obi-Wan slowly swiveled his head and looked around and down – to see that his toes stood mere inches from a sloping, snowy ledge, only a foot or two wide. He looked up – but the top of the crevasse was out of sight, far above. Only a small sliver of sky was visible, only a small slit of light.

Up – he hadn't the strength. Up was death, should he slip. Down was, perhaps, life.

Life – he was alive! He had been prepared to die, yet here he was: still breathing, pretty much in one – albeit battered - piece, and very much alive. He forced a weak grin onto his face: he really did need to stop falling into these types of situations. To be still alive was quite a surprise, but a welcome one. He really was in no hurry to rejoin the Force. That would happen someday; he just hoped that day was many years in the future when he was too old to hold his lightsaber in age-gnarled hands, respected for his advanced age if not his wisdom.

Thinking of wisdom, his arm was telling him it couldn't hold his weight much longer, so he had two choices. One was to hold on until his grip failed, and he resumed his plunge into the depths. He chose the other.

He loosened his grip and slid down the icy wall with shards of ice scraping his face, his hands, to collapse in a heap half pressed against the ice face and partly on his back, contemplating the vagaries of fate or just too shaken to move if he wished to admit it. Had not the Force chosen that moment to return, even if just for a moment, would he have been able to do what he had? The action itself was nearly involuntary, reaction to threat well-ingrained, but could he have accomplished it, in the condition he was in?

He gulped in deep breaths of cold air, shaking and shuddering, and not at all anxious to see just what lay a few feet to the side and perhaps far below. Inaction was not an option, not if he was to survive, but hasty action was worse.

"Anakin!" he shouted, but the cry merely reverberated and echoed. He painfully pushed himself upright, back pressed against the ice and groped for his comlink, leaving a smear of blood on his belt. He thumbed _transmit_: he needed to reassure Anakin that he was okay, but the device went unanswered.

He could wait for rescue – though it was unlikely rescuers would be in time - or he could try to rescue himself. No, not try, never try. _Do, or do not_. He looked down at himself and knew one arm was nearly useless, for it hung limply at his side, only slowly and painfully responding to his attempts to move it. The other arm complained bitterly when he tried to move it, but it was in one piece and somewhat functioning – as long as he didn't hang from it, it would suffice.

His wheezing must be a result of his ribs slamming into the ice wall, he would be lucky – no, the corner of his mouth quirked up, guided well by the Force – should his chest be only bruised, rather than ribs broken. It certainly was not a result of being frightened half to death by his near-demise – though he would never recommend the experience to even the most avid of thrill seekers.

He cautioned a quick look over the edge and slowly drew back with a gulp. There was still plenty of empty air below. Perhaps frightened _was_ the appropriate emotion for what he had just gone through, and after all it was quite all right to feel fear as long as he released it. Emotions weren't wrong – acting on them was. Let them guide you, his master had always said. Right now fear was screaming: get back from the edge! It was a prudent action, even his mind agreed with the emotion. Obi-Wan pressed back as far as he could and averted his eyes until his heart rate slowed to something like normal.

Shadows were deepening already, this far down from the surface. He didn't dare risk losing his lightsaber by trying to use it as a torch to light his path; he would hate to fumble his grip or have it slip from numbing fingers. He didn't have much time to find a relatively safe spot to pass the night, and a quick survey of his immediate vicinity made it apparent where he was already was just as suitable a spot as any other.

Obi-Wan mentally reviewed what equipment he had with him. A Jedi made do with what he had. He would make it enough. The emergency bivy would insulate him from the cold, minimizing heat loss through conduction. He had enough cable to tie himself to an outcrop, should he be foolish enough to roll over in his sleep – if he was lucky enough to get any sleep that night. He carefully eyed the edge, which was far too near for his liking, and decided he definitely would not be sleeping that night.

Crawling into the bivy sack seemed unwise and would take more energy than he wished to expend, but there was more than one way to use it. Once he had wrapped himself in the bivy and he was safely tethered - awkward to do with one non-functioning and one nearly non-functioning arm - he fumbled to get some emergency rations from his belt and choked some down. A body burned food; food was fuel, fuel would help warm his battered body. Lessons of long ago, now almost instinctual, that would allow him to live. Lessons that Anakin was just beginning to learn – Anakin, was he safe? Up above, Anakin had a few more hours of daylight to descend to safety, to the woods, to a fire.

His heart nearly skipped a beat when he thought how close he had come to losing his padawan. Nothing could have pried Anakin's hand loose from his master's grip – had they both fallen, they would have fallen with hands still clasped.

Was it less than a year ago he had been hoping for word that he was ready to start preparing for the trials? A year ago he was a padawan himself. A year ago he would not have dreamt that another could be nearly as meaningful in his life as Qui-Gon, or that his master would be gone to the Force.

His thoughts here and now while sitting impossibly deep in an icy crevasse were of Anakin, alone and so young, not his own predicament. He had instructed the boy in basic survival techniques, but as with so many lessons, he often wondered if his padawan really learned anything. Anakin could save himself, but would he – Obi-Wan's lessons unheeded?

Dared he admit it, he had been fighting doubt for several months now - first, Anakin's suitability for Jedi training, then his own place at his master's side, and more recently, his ability to train Anakin. There were times it seemed Anakin had agreed to become Obi-Wan's padawan, but equally as determined not to learn anything from his master.

It certainly didn't help, the doubt he glimpsed in the eyes of some of the older Jedi. _Prematurely promoted, too young to have a padawan, too inexperienced to handle such an unusual case_…each time he would force the doubts away, cast them into the Force, but the doubt always came back to haunt him – was he teaching Anakin anything, or was the boy just resistant to learning?

_Anakin! I told you I would hang on – I'm on my way. Be there, alive and safe, when I get to you._

He tried to access the bond, the Force, but all the attempt did was to cause him to wince. Force, his head hurt. He raised a hand to his head and attempted to rub it, but his hand shot away from his scalp as soon as he touched the bandage encircling it. As gently as possible, he explored his head and came to the same conclusion he would have otherwise: his head hurt. His hand came away with bits and pieces of grit: dried blood which he had felt along half his scalp. That didn't particularly worry him; scalp wounds were notorious for bleeding even with minimal damage.

What did worry him was this disruption to the Force. A concussion, be it mild or severe, was nothing but a hindrance in his current circumstances, dangerous even. His inability to reach his padawan also worried him. Anakin surely thought he was dead, he himself had expected no less.

He knew how deeply Anakin grieved for things lost to him; he had been inconsolable after Qui-Gon's death. That first night, Anakin's sobs had pulled Obi-Wan from his own mourning, eyes red and face tear-streaked, to the side of the boy that had been his rival, perhaps his replacement. None of that had mattered anymore. Qui-Gon was dead and a young boy was clearly in pain. Both of them were grieving and perhaps they could find solace together mourning the man they had both loved.

Anakin had made it all too clear that he wouldn't accept any offered comfort from the padawan who he thought had failed to protect his master. He had turned his back on Obi-Wan, and the young padawan realized his own emotions had put this barrier between them, when he had been so rattled by his master's words in front of the Council. He had failed to release his emotions as he had been taught and this was one of the consequences of his behavior. He had spent the rest of that night with his head on his drawn up knees, at Anakin's side, and deciding how to make amends for his behavior.

Anakin's emotions and reaction to loss would be a weakness in a Jedi, and so he had tried, once trust had been established between them, to teach Anakin how to face, accept and release emotion. As always, Anakin had his own ideas on what lessons he wished to learn, much to Obi-Wan's chagrin.

At this point, all he could hope was that the Force carried his thoughts to his padawan and he was merely unable to penetrate the clouds blocking him from access to it. He had no way to reassure his padawan that he was alive, except one: return to him.

So that was what he would do – he would find his way to his padawan. Anakin would take his words as a promise, and he would do his very best to treat them as such, even if that was not the promise he had made. A Jedi always kept his promise, which was why a promise was such a rare gift.

_I promise…_

_I promise to protect and guide you on your path, to teach you and allow you to find your own path – this I swear with the Force as my witness_…he had been kneeling on a tile floor in a room set aside for the Jedi in Theed palace. He was surrounded by the members of the Jedi Council, but he had eyes only for Anakin. His padawan, when the bonding ceremony was complete. His eyes had searched Anakin's for hesitation or doubts. He no longer had any for himself, but was Anakin truly willing to pledge to him? It was not too late, but he truly didn't know what he would do if Anakin changed his mind, for he had committed to Anakin at Qui-Gon's side, and now he was committing to Anakin before the Force.

Twice Anakin had turned away from Obi-Wan. He had shunned Obi-Wan when he had come, teary-eyed and grief-stricken at the death of his master, to kneel before him and let the boy who was his rival for Qui-Gon's teachings learn the sad truth from him, and no one else. He had turned away from Obi-Wan that very same night, when the boy's sobs had pulled Obi-Wan from his own tears to try to comfort him. It was only in the few short days between the battle and the Council's arrival on Naboo that Anakin had begun to look to him for counsel and accepted his friendship.

The sapphire blue eyes – Force, he could have been looking into his master's eyes – were affixed on his without hesitation. There was no joy in them, but no doubts either, and the only regrets were of what could not be, not of what was to be.

So he had smiled, and Anakin had smiled back at him, and he finished his pledge with that smile still in his eyes even as he resumed a solemn face, knowing that Anakin would be pledging his own oath next.

_I promise…_

…_I give myself to the Force as its servant, to stay in the light and follow its will not mine own, to guard, guide and protect the weak and innocent…unto the end of my life and even beyond…._

Just moments before, Obi-Wan had finished swearing an oath to the Force sealing his fate forever with the Jedi, as a Knight of the Order. He had foregone the traditional ceremony for he had no wish to celebrate, not when his master was not there to witness it, not with his master's funeral pyre lit just the evening before, and not with his tears barely dried upon his cheeks. He had spent his last night as a padawan in seclusion, as was the usual practice, but his meditation had been interrupted as the reality of the last few days crashed in upon him and he had spent half the night with his head buried in his hands and tears running unabated down his face.

That last night, as Qui-Gon's padawan, he had allowed his grief its last full expression before taking up the mantle and responsibility of his new life as a full Jedi, releasing most of his pain and tears and burying what remnants remained deep within. _I promise_…his promise to the Force, as both knight and master, was also a promise to Qui-Gon, to be worthy of his teaching and to be worthy of the boy that his master had left to his care. It was a promise to Yoda, who had doubts about the padawan, if not the new master and to Mace Windu, who had severed his braid in the place of his master.

_I promise to obey, learn from and be guided by Qui-Gon Jinn on my path_…years before he had been moved nearly to tears when he and Qui-Gon had formalized their bond before the Council and the braid had been weaved into his hair, a braid that he still occasionally expected to feel trailing down his shoulder, its removal such a short while ago.

_I promise_… he had bound himself with promises, and he meant each one. He would keep each one, for each was a sacred vow and never given lightly, no word chosen lightly and each word precise and literal.

_I promise not to let go_…and he had not, for he had _cut_ the cable, fulfilling his promise to protect his padawan; cut the cable with full knowledge that he would be dead within moments. But he had not died, and as long as he drew breath, he still had a chance to continue serving the Force in whatever manner it chose until the day it finally called him home.

He would now make another promise: I promise I will do everything I can to return to you, Padawan, in whatever form it takes – in flesh or in spirit.

That had to include caretaking of his body, especially as the Force still seemed elusive. He could be submerged within it, for all he knew, yet he couldn't feel it. Its soft caress was just out of reach; nearby, around him, but, he thought, not within him.

He needed to rest, to regain what strength he could before facing the day that would come, and his shoulder would not allow him to rest or even get comfortable. He had little choice so he jammed another hypo into his arm and curled up waiting for daylight, resting his head on his arms as he waited for the injection to lessen the sharp ache and jolts of pain in his shoulder. Hopefully it wouldn't muddle his mind at the same time. Injured, in such a precarious position, he didn't dare meditate or slip into a healing trance, especially not when he didn't know the severity of his head wound. He needed to keep a certain level of awareness about him. He wouldn't sleep, not with his body hurting as it did. He would endure the night; he would rest but he would not sleep and in the morning, he would attempt to find his padawan.

"I'm coming, Anakin," he sent a thought out, hoping the Force would catch it and relay it for him. "I will return; I will be there to wipe your tears away – if you will only let me."


	7. Stubborn Determination

Light danced around him, intense blue surrounded him. Obi-Wan blinked his eyes, disoriented. _I'm in Qui-Gon's – no, Anakin's eyes _– and his world slowly came into focus. He half lay and half sat, huddled against an icy wall, on a ledge that sloped downwards. Soft light surrounded him. Illuminated evenly this deep down, with no shadows or bright beams, this place was almost welcoming and surreal in its peacefulness, soothing but for the bone-chilling coolness that penetrated to his innermost being. He could feel the icy tendrils in the pores of his skin and the follicles of his hair, in his bones and in his nerves, indeed, in every cell of his living body as the warmth of the living interfaced with the chill of inevitable death. It was not a place for the living, not for long. It was serene and it was deadly. A beautiful place to be dead in, this tomb that was not, had he not lived.

He sat up, too quickly, and the chasm swirled around him. _Oh, dizzy_, he groaned, leaning his head back and taking several deep, hurting breaths. _Should wait…rescue_, but the Force danced in front of him, beckoning. Speak, it would not, but gesture it would.

_Stay, slumber here forever; move forward, life?_ Was that what went unspoken, or more likely, unheard?

Obi-Wan Kenobi would follow the Force, even to his death, should it beckon. Its will was his, after he took care of a few necessities and the first was to try to contact Anakin. Again, his comlink went unanswered. Blasted thing probably wasn't working, probably jarred when he had slammed into the ice. The shock of hitting solid ice had knocked the breath from him and apparently the comlink had fared no better.

He forced himself to eat some rations and emptied another hypo into his arm. All it did was dull the sharp stabs of pain, but anything that minimized the pain allowed him to think more clearly. He had forgotten how much he relied on the Force to get him through life's aches and pains.

He carefully slid a hand inside his tunic and touched the shoulder that had decided to get well acquainted with a ship's bulkhead, biting his lip to hold back the moan when it came. As expected, the shoulder felt misshapen and swollen to his gentle fingering. He didn't know if it was broken or bruised, but it didn't really matter. He worked the hand of that arm inside his tunic as a makeshift sling, hoping to avoid any jostling of that arm. His other arm was in far better shape, a muscle or a tendon pulled, perhaps, something that would heal quickly if rested, capable of use if he just avoided hanging from it.

He finished his preparations to move on, to find his way back to his padawan and hopefully, help. Bivy sack – stuff back into belt. Try comlink, again, give up on comlink and stuff it back into belt, too. Pull oneself to one's feet and prepare to live another day. _Ready_, he thought at the Force. _Lead on_.

The ledge was slippery; his boots not made to grip ice. Each foot step needed to be precise in its placement, his concentration total. The last thing he needed was to have a foot slip out from under him, sending him tumbling. He stepped carefully, balancing himself with a hand on the wall when he could, focusing on nothing but the step he was making so that it wouldn't be his last.

In some places the ledge was so narrow he had to face inwards, creeping slow inch by slow inch on his toes, face pressed into the ice – a good excuse to close his eyes, for he could see nothing but white anyway – as he focused everything on touch – where his hand was, his toe, until finally he was able to face forward again and take a shaky breath. _That was fun, _he murmured, just to hear something, anything in this silent place.

He slumped against the wall for a brief rest and his thoughts turned again to Anakin. He was safely out of the crevasse, Obi-Wan knew, but was he safe? Had he made it to the tree line and made a shelter? There could be other crevasses that might claim his padawan. He had been sure that the route he had picked out was relatively safe. He was wrong. He had guided his padawan into danger, rather than protecting him.

Should he die down here, he knew any other Jedi would do a better job of protecting Anakin. Not one of them could do worse. Some Jedi already had doubts about his abilities or the Council's decision to knight him, let alone letting such a young and untested knight train one so late to the Order. Their doubts would have been intensified had they known that Qui-Gon had named Anakin as the child of prophecy, the Chosen One, and that he had been given to a new knight's care.

Perhaps they were right. Perhaps he had been over-confident in his abilities. It didn't really matter though. He was Anakin's master until and unless the Force chose to bring him home, rather than sending him home.

He would never get home if he merely continued to rest, besides he was growing chilled. He needed to keep moving, move until he could move no more. Obi-Wan walked when he could, slid where he needed, tiptoed when necessary, until the ledge led him onto the floor of the crevasse, fissured and rough but solid enough. Falling, as in to his death, was no longer a danger, but falling was a distinct possibility; he was getting dangerously cold and weak and the light was fast failing, as was he.

He didn't know how much more strength he could pull out of himself. He would have to dig deep, find reserves he didn't know he had. Obi-Wan was wearying out much sooner than he would have thought; the cold as well as his injuries were conspiring against him, but they had a formidable foe – his will. His sheer stubbornness.

_I promised to hang on, _he reminded himself sternly. _I have to rest…I can't continue on until I rest, nor can I continue on in the dark unless the Force is with me to guide me. _

At least moving had kept him somewhat warm, moving slowly had allowed his clothing to dry on his body. He had been all too aware of the danger of sweating. He would be at least dry, but the cold was intense - a hint of dampness, his exhalations visible – and he had little way of regulating his body temperature.

Besides rest, he needed food and water. Food and water were life, so he awkwardly fumbled for his lightsaber and promptly dropped it, his hands too numb to grip it. Thank the Force he hadn't tried to get to it somewhere where dropping it would have meant losing it. He let it lay on the ice as he fumbled awkwardly to get his hands into his armpits to warm them. Once the stiffness left them, the pin and needle sensation of returning circulation fading as he wiggled his fingers, he pulled one hand out and retrieved his lightsaber. He plunged it, ignited, into a cavern wall.

Ice hissed and melted, water ran, steam boiled and he lapped the water up – hot water, warmed by his lightsaber. _This lightsaber is your life_: he could hear Qui-Gon intoning those words to a careless padawan, and he found the strength to chuckle at the memory. His master had no idea the truth of those words. He could feel the warmth slide through him, his body perking up and his shivers finally abating. He ate some more rations, drank some more hot water, and felt much better. Obi-Wan didn't know how far he had come, how deep within the glacier he was, nor how much further he had to go, but he been granted another day of life and tomorrow would be another. One tomorrow he would find a way out, and one tomorrow he would find help.

Obi-Wan crawled within the thin cover of his bivy and rested, not slept; tossing and turning, and biting back a strangled cry of pain each time a move jarred his arm. He only had a few hypos left; he would save them for the day time when he needed all his focus and attention on his path, not his battered body. He lay shivering and cold, gathering his energy for a last push when weak light allowed.

At last, the absolute darkness began to soften into grays. His teeth were badly chattering and shivers were absolutely wracking his body, fighting the screams of protest from his arm for dominion over his weakening body. There was no reason to wait for the shadows to lighten even more; he decided he really needed to move before it was too late.

He melted more ice into hot water and choked down some rations before pushing to his feet. It seemed his survival was in his hands alone – his hands and his will. Times like this his stubbornness served him well.

He stumbled for hours, sometimes betrayed by his feet and suddenly flat on his face. It would be so much easier to just give up and sleep forever. Obi-Wan didn't fear death, death was peace. He would not reach for it, for he wanted to reach for life while he could. For himself, and for Anakin, for he didn't want to leave his padawan to mourn his master of just a few months. He all too well knew the pain of being left behind, and while he could, he would fight with every breath he had left to return to his padawan.

He would do it for Qui-Gon, he would do it for Anakin, and he would do it for himself. He would do it for a future full of possibilities.

So he kept moving, pushing himself wearily to his feet each time he found himself face down in ice. Moving exhausted him, but moving warmed him. Moving brought him that much closer to Anakin, and salvation. Moving was life, and he thought should he stop, he would never move again. The sun was long out of sight and shadows were again deepening the crevasse when he heard it – a ship. The rescue team had arrived. Obi-Wan stared upwards, hope and exhaustion in his eyes._ Be safe, Anakin, let them know where you are. Call them to you! I am…coming. _

As he lowered his head to move on, he felt suddenly dizzy. His legs didn't seem to want to hold him up any longer. He wavered, unbalanced and his vision blurred. _Oh, not good_, he moaned. And he fell.

With a half-strangled cough, his fingers weakly opening and closing with the spasms, Obi-Wan slid one hand to his throat and tried to massage it as he cleared his aching head, wondering if he had actually passed out. He was lying with his face pressed into snow and ice. His throat was full of snow, melting and numbing his windpipe; he wheezed and swallowed snow when he meant to swallow air. He choked and struggled for breath. He couldn't die _now._ Strength of will rather than strength of body brought him to his knees, coughing and choking, until he could bring himself back to his feet. Shakily he brought a hand up to explore his nose and cheekbones. Nothing was broken, only bruised, but his hand came away covered in blood.

Jamming the back of his hand against his nose, he wavered in place, getting his balance back.

_Come_, the Force beckoned.

_I could use you, you know_, he half grumbled. _It would make surviving much easier than doing all this on my own._

With the Force or without, there was only one thing to do, one way to move, and one way to live. Stumble forward, step by step, and so he did – and then he saw it. Sky. The sun, low on the horizon and barely visible though clouds. Faint fingers of warm light stretched to his feet, backlighting thin arches and projections before him, turning the way before him into a path strewn with glittering crystals. They were twinkling and sparkling at him, or was it tears in his eyes, catching the lowering sun?

He blinked; was he imagining all this – but no, it was the sun – nearly sunset – before him. It took a moment to sink in, this beautiful reality before him. Before him, not above him. Daylight, at the end of an endless tunnel. Rescue, when he was so close to perishing. Life in front of him, if he could just get to it.

Not a mirage, not a vision, but life itself stretched before him, life made visible by light.

Light! He had always been a creature of light, and now light would save him. If he could just make it out of this icy slit into the open, before darkness descended. They would surely be searching for him, see him. If he could just get to the light, he would soon be warm and dry, safe, and most likely back with his padawan, to soothe and comfort him after these few days of uncertainty and grief.

And he ran…weaving, unsteady, faltering – to the light on his carpet of diamonds and burst into light as it faded into dusk. Above him he caught a glimmer of red as the last of the sinking sun touched the peaks far above before clouds swept in to wipe the color away. Darkness already surrounded him, so far below those jutting heights. He was too late. He fell to his knees and nearly wept. So close. Not close enough.

No moon, faint starlight, clouds. He was trapped with no gentle push or tug from the Force to guide him. Which way to go? Forward? Up? Down? Which way was safety?

_Down_ was the tree line as well as potential fractures and icefalls to negotiate. _Up_: he thought the ship may have landed above, but the lowering clouds hid its location. He did not dare move in the dark; his Force senses were still too muted to trust, the terrain too treacherous to traverse without sight, even the rescuers position unknown and unseen. He was stuck in place until the dawn, and so here he would die – because his body had not been able to match his will, to get him into the light in time.

He knew he wouldn't survive another night.

"I'm sorry, Anakin," he whispered as he fell to his knees, before toppling face first to the ground. He had done all that he could, given all that he had; nothing was left.

All that he had left was his life, and soon - not even that.


	8. Treasures of the Night

Lights twinkled above him when Obi-Wan raised his face from its pillow of snow. Stars – the stars were like gems in the night – sapphires, and rubies, and diamonds and more – a gift from the Force, this which would be his last sight. Entranced, he stared upwards and felt a bit of warmth steal through him. Strange, to die of exposure while being warmed by the stars, he mused idly.

At least it was not an unpleasant way to die. His only regret was leaving Anakin without a master, another loss the young boy would not take well. So many things Anakin didn't yet understand, despite all Obi-Wan's attempts to teach him.

"_Death is not the end, Anakin. Death is a return home, to the Force. Death is living, just not in corporeal form." _

"_Then why do you mourn Qui-Gon?"_

_He had tried to find an answer, in the midst of grief, on their way to Qui-Gon's funeral, his eyes dropping to Anakin's hand clasped in his before raising them to meet his eyes._

"_Because we are corporeal beings, Anakin. While we live, we mourn that which was once living, lost to us, though it is only transformed, not lost. To be human is to mourn, to be Jedi is to accept and let go."_

_Let go. _Maybe it _was_ time to let go. Maybe the Force had beckoned him here so that he would die knowing Anakin's rescuers had arrived; that his padawan was or would be soon safe. Maybe this was a gift to him, before the Force brought him home.

He looked to the sky, tried to smile. "Don't mourn me long, Anakin. Accept my death and let me go."

He knew Anakin didn't handle losses well, but Obi-Wan also knew that Anakin had been none too pleased to discover that Obi-Wan would assume his training. He had consented, that was true, had accepted him as his master willingly, but Obi-Wan suspected it was as much because Obi-Wan was the only Jedi he knew and therefore far more acceptable than a complete stranger. Missing his mother, missing Qui-Gon Jinn, Anakin had yearned for stability, for familiarity. They had grown close, but the affection Anakin had for his master was born as much of proximity as true caring: Obi-Wan had been the only being that had bridged the gulf from Tatooine to Naboo to Coruscant. Anakin had always hesitated to fully open himself to the bond, which his master both regretted and had been learning to accept.

"Remember you must move on, my padawan."

A small light flared within his mind. Obi-Wan puzzled over it before he understood: he could access a tiny portion of the bond with his padawan. Not enough to call him, not enough to tell him he was out here, somewhere, but enough that he could pull just a bit of warmth through the bond – not much – but enough to keep him from freezing, to think, to realize – the stars above were not stars, but lights of the rescue ship! A beacon to the dying, a sign of life to one resigned to the loss of it – it was his guide and his salvation.

Not all that far, and yet all too far. If he stumbled up the snowfield half the night, did not fall or falter, if he avoided crevasses, he might make it before morning's first light.

Or he might fall short, and collapse, only to die, within sight of the ship, even closer and yet way too distant, to be found when the inhabitants arose, a mere speck in the snow.

_Do or do not_.

With his last breath, with his last step, with his last thought, he _would_ make it, step by slow step. He had promised to hang on, and a Jedi never broke a promise.

He pushed slowly to his feet, first to one knee, then both, then up - up, not bothering to brush the snow from his face and clothing. One step, then another…he was returning to his padawan…one step and another. Tired, he was so tired, but he had to keep going. Another foot in front of the other one, and one more again. Take a deep breath, refocus. Each step was a step closer to help, each step another closer to his padawan. Each step was reinforcing his promise.

His feet felt like blocks of ice, numb. Each step he kicked registered less and less, each time he fell, or even came close, it got harder and harder to get back to his feet. He had nothing left in him but his will. When his body faltered, his will prodded him on.

_You're a stubborn man, padawan mine_. Qui-Gon had been smiling when he said that, finally conceding to his apprentice's determination not to be bested this time. His master had not just wished him to demonstrate his independence, but encouraged it and Obi-Wan knew it was a sign that his master was preparing to let him go - eventually. They had not spoken of Obi-Wan's readiness for the trials: both knew the time was nearing, but both knew the time was not yet. Fate had forced their hand and prepared the padawan in a way that neither could have foreseen at the time.

_You've taught me that stubbornness can win some battles that can't be won any other way, Master. _

_Stubbornness can be either a virtue, or a vice, Obi-Wan. _

_Then I shall follow your example, Master, and make it always a virtue. _

His mischievous smile had made Qui-Gon laugh and clap him on the back. He remembered that exchange for it had been only a few weeks before they had left to negotiate a treaty between the Naboo and the Trade Federation – only weeks before his entire world had fallen apart and he had been forced to hold himself together, for that was what he had been trained to do: keep a level head during the middle of crisis. He had temporarily lost it, and nearly died for its lack as a result during his battle. He had resolved never to lose his center again; to hold onto that strength he had found when he had surrendered himself to the Force and lived.

He would call on that stubbornness now.

He had to keep going. One step, then another.

A large patch of light appeared, closed – in the door's brief opening he had seen a small figure – his padawan – appear and move off. Close, he was so close now.

"Anakin!" But the call couldn't escape his cold lips; his own ears did not hear it. He was within shouting distance, but he could not shout, could not speak; he could not even whisper.

Relief and fear battled in his heart: Anakin was safe, but why was he out in the dark and the cold? Why was he alone? And why, a moment later, was he shouting, "I –** hate – **you!"?

_No, don't hate, Anakin. Never hate. _He needed to get to Anakin; his padawan needed him. If he could only teach Anakin one lesson, it would be never to hate, to let it go, to embrace only the light and renounce the dark.

"No," he croaked through stiff lips, arms outstretched. "Padawan – Anakin, don't hate."

"I hate you."

_No, Anakin, please. Listen to your master… I won't let you hate – I won't let you…. _He was fading fast, he hadn't the strength to move the last few feet forward – _Anakin, it's me…_

Unable to take even one more step forward, he stared at his padawan, reached out a trembling arm and stuttered words that would not come. Stared, with eyes that barely focused, spoke with lips that could not form words, and reached with one arm that trembled, only to fall flat on the snow, his strength finally expended. He lay, exhausted and weary – endured Anakin's hands beating at him, denying his very existence until he wondered if perhaps he truly was a ghost – until reality replaced unreality and Anakin's cries of "go 'way" turned into cries of "you came back."

Anakin fell upon him, hugs replacing blows, and Obi-Wan thought he had never been so happy as now when collapsed in the snow with his padawan's arms around him. He would have hugged him back, had his arms allowed.

He shifted off his stomach, wincing as he rolled partially onto his side. He needed to see Anakin's face, not just feel his arms hugging his neck or his tears dampening his cheek – he needed to know that his padawan was truly okay. All Obi-Wan could see was the back of his head; Anakin refused to let go. It was a weakness, a Jedi needed to know how to let go – and _when_, he then decided. _When_ didn't need to be now; _when_ could wait. _When_ could be later, when he, too, no longer needed the comfort.

One bruised and torn hand slowly crept out, rested on his padawan's shoulder. It was the best he could offer, a poor substitute for the hug he wished to return. Obi-Wan lay shivering and half buried under his padawan. He had kept his promise. He had hung on until now his padawan hugged him close, and Obi-Wan knew his very struggle to live was over – he had come back as he had all but promised.

He would need to address Anakin's emotions later, when he could speak coherently and when he had command of his own, for his close brush with mortality had loosened his control over his own. Relaxing into his padawan's hug and the knowledge that he had survived made him incapable of focusing his attention where it was so clearly needed. Waves of grief and joy washed through and over him as he felt his padawan's slowly dissipating pain and wild elation, mingling with his own intense relief and happiness. He had never thought that Anakin would be affected this strongly by his death or disappearance; they were certainly growing closer all the time but it was hardly the kind of bond that would cause this frenzied desperation.

There would be time to puzzle over that later, discuss when he had his strength back. For now it was enough to know that his padawan was safe and that the two were reunited. He could feel the thin strands of the bond reweaving themselves from the sheer strength of Aakin's unwitting Force broadcast of all his emotions – his relief, his joy, and finally,his affection for the man who hadn't known the depth of them until now.

He buried his face in Anakin's tunic and wept.


	9. Reunited

Anakin knew he was going to die; the apparition was going to squeeze the life from him. The ghost of Obi-Wan, if it was he, was going to send Anakin into the same void that Anakin had sent Obi-Wan. The warm comfort of the Force did not await him. Eternal cold awaited; the ultimate hell from a boy from the desert. Had he choice, he would burn in hell – heat, at least, he understood; knew intimately. Far better to writhe, burning, than shiver, eternally freezing. Jedi did not know hell, in any of its incarnations, Jedi only knew the Force.

Proof perhaps that he was not a Jedi, despite all their attempts to mold him into one. They knew, they all knew. On some level, Obi-Wan, too, knew, or had known. Why else had he left him? Why else did he fall to the depths, unless to take the unworthy apprentice's fate? But Death was not pleased, the sacrifice not redeemed. Anakin – it was Anakin it wanted.

His fault. His punishment. His guilt. He had been the one to send Obi-Wan to that icy tomb, and now that same fate was to be his. That was what stole the warmth from him, drew him here to die above where his master slept in eternal cold below. That was why the icy hand reached …

…but the arm that squeezed him had no power to harm him. It was weak and without strength. It was solid like flesh numbed almost to ice. Whiter than snow, colder than death, traced with blood, the hand relinquished its touch almost before the touch registered – for no ghost had power against a Jedi. Anakin's first scream slowly died away, to be replaced by anger.

The ghost had tried to taunt him, make him think his dead master had returned! He would tell the ghost how unwelcome it was, so "go 'way," he screamed. Rebuffed, the apparition now lay sprawled on its stomach, making no further attempt to harm him.It took his blows and his screams – nay, accepted them with a patience that seemed familiar. Its body felt heavy and solid under his hands: wet, cold, and trembling. Certainly no ghost would behave so, no demon so quiescent, no apparition so solid.

"Go 'way, go 'way, go 'way!"

Instead the ghost shuddered and reached out again, trying weakly to push upright – only to fall back to the snow, half knocking the boy over as it fell at his feet. Anakin stared in shock, for the tickle of a breath had brushed past his neck; a hint of warmth and a hint of life. Anakin lowered a hand to the face and gasped as his fingers brushed off snow, to reveal ashen skin traced with blue under the coating.

"You came back, you came back! Master, it's me, Anakin – do you remember me?" he shouted, throwing his arms around the ghost with his master's face and eyes, a ghost who came for him and yet hadn't seemed to recognize him. It was a face that had haunted him awake and asleep for several days now. It was a face that should be flushed with life: it was instead a face that was stiff and white; it was what he had feared he would have to face when the Jedi retrieved his master's body. And face it he knew he would have had to do: stare into the eyes that saw nothing, see the cold blue lips, and the pallor of chilled skin that would never know warmth again.

It would have been his penance, the punishment he deserved. He would have had to face what he had wrought, and now he was facing what he had feared to face. But instead of grief and guilt, the sight brought pain and joy, for it was not the face of one dead, but one still alive.

Eyes that still held a spark of life deep within their depths stared into his, the ghost nodded and an icy finger lifted to brush his cheek before the hand slipped down to lie on Anakin's shoulder. Lying outstretched on his stomach, the ghost weakly turned into the boy's embrace. The padawan just sat, cradling his master within his arms and pressing Obi-Wan's head into his shoulder as one hand gently brushed snow away from his head and shoulders. His poor master, shivering and shaking so badly in his padawan's arms that Anakin wondered if Obi-Wan was half frozen, crying, or both.

It didn't matter, all that mattered was that Anakin was half delirious with joy; he had his master back. He hadn't been left alone and his master had not broken his promise. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, or just hold his master close.

Sitting cross-legged in the snow, Anakin hugged his master even tighter to try to share some of his own warmth with him. One hand kept sifting through his master's damp hair as the other held Obi-Wan pressed tight against him.

Shards of ice broke and melted into icy runnels of water, dripping and sliding from the wet strands of Obi-Wan's hair and eyelashes. Anakin couldn't tell the wash of frozen droplets from his own warm tears, mixing as they did as they splattered and fell. He felt the icy water pool within the folds of his cloak and begin to soak in against his chest, only to suddenly realize he was sitting wrapped in his own cloak and blankets while Obi-Wan had no refuge from the chill but his padawan's arms, and Anakin hurriedly wrapped a fold of the cloak around the trembling shoulders.

"I'm s…sorry," Anakin felt his master, more than heard, mumble into his tunic. "Made you…worry…so proud – of you."

"_I'm_ sorry!" he blurted back, not wanting to hear his master accept any responsibility for what happened, but Obi-Wan only pushed deeper into his embrace. "Don't you – don't you remember?"

Red-rimmed eyes stared at him as Anakin slightly drew back; Obi-Wan slowly shook his head and blinked.

"Falling…dragged you with me…."

It didn't matter, Anakin told himself. Master didn't remember why he fell. He didn't know, and he didn't need to. It would be enough to know he had kept his padawan from dying, when he made that desperate reach and grabbed Anakin's hand. It would be enough to know that he had sacrificed his own life to save his padawan's. It would be enough to know that they were together again.

"Cable – broke?" Phrased as a question, it was a weary statement. Obi-Wan didn't know, or didn't remember, cutting it. He didn't remember saving Anakin; he only remembered falling.

"No…no, Master – you tried to save me, you cut it and you fell and I knew you were dead and you're not, you're not –"

"Shh." Weary, it was still a command. "Anchor…slipping? Yes…remember…needed – save you…didn't see - dragged you with me – almost killed you…sorry. Forgive – me?"

Anakin only pressed tighter against Obi-Wan's chest, ashamed to let Obi-Wan think it was his fault for all that they both had gone through. If his master asked, he would tell the truth, but if he let it go – so too would the padawan. Obi-Wan had more important things to worry about than disciplining his padawan – like getting warm, getting dry, getting medical treatment. It was clear he was in pain, racked with shivers and numb from prolonged cold, and barely coherent.

He was alive, and Anakin wasn't going to let him go. Maybe his master couldn't - wouldn't - hug him, but he could hug his master and that was almost as good as having his master hug him – and then he felt it, the slow unsteady creep of an arm and the hiss of an indrawn breath that accompanied it.

Obi-Wan slowly slid an arm around Anakin, gingerly hugging him back. It hurt desperately. No matter how much it hurt, it was worth it. It might be his only chance to hug Anakin, before the boy again rejected the familiarity.

So there they remained, a boy too happy to cry, sitting on the snow cradling a man too weary and relieved to be ashamed of crying, both content and happy for this moment despite the chill.

Obi-Wan seemed oblivious to the small procession of Jedi, ignited lightsabers in hand, slipping and sliding to their side. Light spilled from the open hatchway behind them, silhouetting them as they hurried in response to Anakin's screams. A huge sigh of relief escaped Anakin as the three Jedi reached them.

"It's Master, he's alive, Master's alive," Anakin babbled as Garen and Mace dropped to the injured man's side. Garen carefully lifted Obi-Wan's shoulders and rolled him into his arms for a quick hug, an apologetic and yet thankful smile crossing his face at the soft cry of pain from the cold bundle in his arms.

"You're awfully alive for a dead man," he breathed into Obi-Wan's ear, and was rewarded with a slight nod and the merest lifting of the corner of his mouth. Garen gently touched the slow tears trickling down the cold cheeks, brushed them away. The pinched look on his face, the rigidity of his skin under Garen's fingertips, the half aware eyes betrayed all too eloquently how close Obi-Wan had come to freezing. Even the dried blood on one side of his head was frozen and flaking. Even a few more hours may have sealed his fate.

"Come my friend, let's get you inside and warmed up, maybe a dose – or two – of painkillers. Force, Obi-Wan - ," he hugged his friend close, trying to blink away tears of joy and relief. "I couldn't imagine life without you. I'm so – blasted – happy to see you." He hugged his friend, again, before standing, lifting Obi-Wan with him and wrapping a supportive arm around him. The Jedi wavered unsteadily, eyes half closed. Mace steadied Obi-Wan with a hand against his back as Anakin clambered to his feet and wrapped his arms around his master's waist as he leaned into his side.

"It's good to see you, Kenobi, though I rather suspect you're even more pleased to see us," Mace said. He almost smiled.

"Let's get you to the ship – Aneil," he acknowledged as his fellow Jedi pulled his comlink from his belt to contact Bant. "Can you walk?"

At Obi-Wan's grimace and weak shake of his head, Mace grabbed Obi-Wan's legs as Garen shifted his hands to grip him under the shoulders. Obi-Wan tried to bite back a weak whimper, and Garen quickly shifted the position of his hand, recognizing the soft protest for what it was. With Master Aneil steadying the injured man on one side, they carried Obi-Wan hurriedly to the ship. Anakin held tightly onto one of Obi-Wan's hands, his face devouring that of his master as he trotted alongside.

As they got closer to the light, Anakin could see how utterly exhausted Obi-Wan was, how pale his skin. The hand he held tightly to was stiff, unable to wrap into Anakin's and so cold that Anakin was tempted to snatch his hand back. He only squeezed harder, trying to send warmth into that rigid hand. Scrapes marked Obi-Wan's face and hands from his falls, dried blood had slid down his face from his nose and a bruise was forming on a cheekbone. His half open eyes glinted strangely in the light as if half the life in them had been taken from them.

For the first time since he had found Obi-Wan, Anakin was worried. His master was back, but he wasn't at all well – and Obi-Wan peered over at him, and his cracked lips parted in a half-smile. He lightly squeezed Anakin's hand before letting himself close his eyes. He had done all that he could, and it had been enough. Now it was time to give himself over to those who could warm and repair him.

Bant was waiting with warm blankets, medicine and warm liquids, giving one quick look at Anakin to check him out before temporarily dismissing him from thought. The padawan was flushed with anxiety and joy, but he was healthy enough to ignore for the moment.

"Bant, it's Master, but he's so cold, help him, please," Anakin begged the healer once he was within earshot.

Bant nodded a bit absently, her full attention focused on Obi-Wan, assessing his condition as well as she could as the little procession neared her. His eyes opened a bit, to reveal a hint of his normal blue-gray orbs under long lashes as he heard his padawan's use of Bant's name; a hint of a smile broke over his face.

"So, Obi, you thought you could drop out of our lives," she greeted Obi-Wan with a quick kiss to his forehead, waiting for his appreciative grin at her quip. It came; just a small twitch of his lips, but it came. As long as Obi-Wan could joke, or respond to one, she knew he would always be okay.

"Don't…recommend that method," he murmured, almost inaudibly.

Bant could see very little as yet, but was everlastingly grateful not to be facing his lifeless eyes. As a healer, she was used to the sight of death, but the thought of facing Obi-Wan's dead and staring eyes had bothered her. She loved Obi's eyes, the way they crinkled with his grin, sparkled with his quips or shone with delight when something pleased him. There was a saying about eyes being the window into the soul, and she was convinced that was why Obi-Wan's eyes were so beautiful to her, for they reflected that which was within.

He gave a small rub of his fingers against Anakin's palm before he withdrew his hand and reached to Bant, red scrapes contrasting to the white of his skin, and entwined his fingers with hers, smiling faintly.

Garen and Mace carried Obi-Wan to the medical cabin and carefully placed him on a bunk. The cabin lights made him close his eyes, so bright they made his eyes water as his surroundings blurred around him.

"Just keep your eyes closed until they adjust – it's not that bright in here," Bant said reassuringly as he blinked several times to try to clear them. Garen and Mace stripped him from his wet clothes – Mace raising an eyebrow at the twisted and red shoulder as Garen winced in shock and dismay at the sight of his friend's battered body - and patted him dry. They slipped him into dry pants, leaving him bare from the waist up for the treatment he so obviously needed. Since Bant indicated she would look at the shoulder next, Garen drew the blanket up to Obi-Wan's neck , one hand lingering on it for a moment as if seeking reassurance that Obi-Wan was really there underneath his hand and under his eyes.

"I'm fine, Garen," he whispered as the hand slowly withdrew. Garen nodded dubiously as he drew back to allow Bant room to work. Obi-Wan was always "fine," in his own mind, in the presence of healers and Garen had always half wondered if it was because Obi-Wan trusted them implicitly to heal or fix any injury, or if he merely downplayed his pain or illnesses in some misguided attempt to reassure his companions.

It felt so good, to be dry and if not yet warm, warmer, that Obi-Wan didn't protest the indignity of being unclothed and re-clothed by others in the least, luxuriating in the feel of a soft bed beneath him and warm blankets drawn over him. He lay quietly as Bant checked his temperature and other vital signs, though he stirred restlessly when a slight shift in position put pressure on his injured shoulder.

"You're darn lucky, you know," Bant teased him with a wink, as she worked over him.

"Not – luck," he murmured back, squinting to see that Garen and Bant were grinning as he gave the expected response. "Stubbornness…skill…training…."

"Whatever you call it – Obi, you should really be dead, you know," Bant said, suddenly sober. "A concussion, that shoulder I'm looking at next – I don't know how you kept your balance or your wits about you, let alone find the strength to get yourself out of that crevasse…"

"Too stubborn to die," he said softly. Too stubborn, too determined, and too beholden to a promise. His eyes flickered over Bant's shoulder to his padawan. Garen had thrown a dry blanket around the boy's shoulder and stood behind him with his hands on Anakin's shoulders, but neither of them were paying any attention to the other, both were intent on watching Bant's ministrations. Mace had slipped out sometime previous.

Anakin looked positively haggard, despite the happiness that shone from him, and Obi-Wan wondered just what kind of shape the boy had been in when found. Surely he didn't look like that just from worry, did he? He knew he would have to talk with the boy when he could and find out just what had happened to him, why Anakin was shouting, "I hate you," and what had been behind his attempts to protect himself from something he hadn't at first recognized as his master.

Obi-Wan shifted slightly to catch Anakin's eyes, but the movement sent a jolt of pain through his shoulder and he squeezed his eyes shut until the pain lessened. By then, Bant was through with his head and ready to turn her attention there. A look of relief crossed his face when Bant folded the blanket down to work on his chest and shoulders. His shoulder might hurt worse, at first, but when Bant was finished, the infernal scream the shoulder insisted on sending would be banished, or at least under his control. Pain release had been next to impossible for several days now. All the hypos had done was take the edge off, but even that had been of immense help to his focus.

As with all Jedi, he had had first aid training and as a field Jedi, had sometimes been one of the first to respond to injuries – his own, his master's, or other unfortunate beings. He twisted his head to the side and knew immediately from the look of his shoulder that it was in bad shape indeed. No wonder it hurt as blasted bad as it did. From the look on Bant's face, the healer knew just how bad, and how painful, it was, too.

Gentle fingers assessed the injury, and Bant looked at him with a frown. "That really has to hurt, Obi. I doubt even you were able to release the pain into the Force entirely."

He managed to snort. "Didn't. Hypos, Bant. Hard to access…Force…head hurt." His teeth were beginning to chatter with his chest exposed. The air in the cabin was warm; he was not.

"Stars above, Kenobi, you're one banged up Jedi," Garen shook his head as he watched Bant immobilize the shoulder, by far the most serious injury. One side of Obi-Wan's chest was bruised, the color in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin elsewhere.

"Ice is hard;" a wry grin accompanied the halting words. Garen winced in sympathy.

"They're not broken," Bant reassured him, checking his ribs before looking at the other shoulder. "That shoulder is going to need surgery once we get back to the Temple. This arm is just wrenched, it will be okay in a few days if you rest it."

"Rest, elevate, compress, ice – I managed the last one," he said, attempting to bring some humor to the situation.

"If you can't bring the ice pack to the Jedi, you bring the Jedi to the ice pack," Bant agreed with a smile. "Let's see what that cold did to your extremities."

Bant turned her attention to Obi-Wan's fingers and toes, checking the color, rigidity of the skin and degree of numbness. The skin was intensely cold to her touch, waxy and pale, but with a minor degree of difficulty she could flex them and already the skin was beginning to show a healthy pink tinge. Finally, the healer straightened up and patted Obi-Wan as she tucked the covers around her friend.

"Warm, Obi?"

"Almost," he gave a crooked smile up at her, and indeed the color was beginning to return to his face, to leave him pale but no longer unnaturally so. "Happy."

"Me, too, Obi, me, too," Bant agreed, softly stroking Obi-Wan's cheek with one hand. "I didn't want to lose you, my friend, but I was sure I had. Anakin was heartbroken, and truth to tell – so was I. It was hard to face losing you."

"Ah, wasn't lost," Obi-Wan flashed a mischievous grin and settled back more firmly in his bunk with a soft sigh of pleasure. "Knew where I was."

"Well, we didn't!" Bant exclaimed, wiping her eyes and blinking. "We were sure we would be searching for your body today, you joker." With a firm hand, she pushed Obi-Wan back down when he tried to sit up with an apology on his lips. "Listen, I'd rather listen to you joking than not listen to you at all – it's okay, Obi. I'm going to get some fluids into you with this IV, this drip has a sedative in it and some painkillers, so you'll be asleep shortly. By morning you should be in shape to tell us all about your adventure."

Obi-Wan nodded weakly as he felt Bant insert a needle in his arm and then his eyes suddenly snapped open as he thought of his padawan. How could he have forgotten about him – again - for by Anakin's words and actions out there on the snow, the boy had been suffering more than he had thought he would be. Obi-Wan felt terrible, his padawan needed him and here he was ready to let himself sleep.

Anakin stood off to the side, shivering and alone, until he felt Obi-Wan's eyes on him. His master's lips were still blue and his teeth still chattered; he could barely speak but somehow his wish for Anakin to come to his side got communicated. To give the reunited master and padawan a private moment, the others left the room, but Bant stopped first and whispered into Anakin's ear.

"Talk to him when he wakes up, now's not the time. He should hear what happened from you. Buck up, kiddo, the worst thing he'll do to you is give you about a year's worth of lectures in one go before he forgives you, okay?"

Anakin nodded, glad that Bant was not going to tell on him. He had already made up his mind – he wouldn't lie, but he was not going to volunteer the information, either. He had been punished enough already by suffering for two days under the belief that his master was dead.

His early years as a slave had taught him that to admit to error brought punishment, that evading the truth by keeping silent kept one out of trouble if blame could not be reliably affixed. Anakin had grown so skilled at appearing innocent of wrong-doing that Watto did the Toydarian equivalent of throwing up his hands in frustration when things were undone or broken, contenting himself with berating the boy. Unlike many other slave owners, Watto had been fair enough in his own crude way. Without proof of wrongdoing, he refrained from physical punishment.

By now, silence for Anakin was an automatic reflex to avoid taking responsibility if he could avoid it for anything that could have negative consequences.

He needed his master to get well soon; to focus on recovery and wipe the haunting memory of loss and grief from his padawan's mind by becoming once more the young man with few weaknesses and many strengths that Anakin had come to utterly rely on. When Obi-Wan was well, his padawan was well.

More than that, he didn't want Obi-Wan upset with him, to utter his disapproval in those soft tones and chiding words he had learned to dread. Anakin hated those times, deserved or not. He craved praise and approval; wilted under reproach or grew defensive. His master was not lavish with praise or compliments, and his frown of disappointment when Anakin did not try or did not listen bothered his padawan more than he liked to admit: he wanted Obi-Wan's unqualified approval. He had to admit his master was even-handed and fair: he did express approval or satisfaction when Anakin worked hard or accomplished something, but his praise was always earned, never freely given without reason.

"A..ni," was about all Obi-Wan could get out before a yawn interrupted him. Warmth had begun to steal through his body and he was relaxing into its comfort: it and sedatives conspired against continuing wakefulness, but he pressed a still-icy palm against his padawan's face, trying to smile through another yawn. "A…ni."

Anakin didn't begrudge him the use of that name, not at all, though he had once made it clear that he would not respond to that diminutive. Any word from his master warmed his heart, even if his master's touch chilled him.

"You said you would hold on!" Anakin accused, sniffling as he pressed his face into his mentor's sore shoulder. Obi-Wan went rigid with pain, but didn't shift away. His padawan needed him more than he needed relief and soon the painkillers would kick in.

"Did hang on. For – for you," he breathed, fighting the pain. "Should have – died, but – made a promise. Kept me – going, when…should have – have died." He was fighting to stay awake but Obi-Wan was finding it more and more difficult to speak or keep his eyes open.

"Uh, huh," Anakin contradicted him, knowing he would be able to get by with it this time. He wanted to know how Obi-Wan had survived, but his master was barely able to get his words out – they were coming slower and slower, slurring and halting in their delivery. That could come later, what was important now was to sit by his master's side and bask in his presence and tell him how much he had come to mean to him, so he clambered up on the bunk and kneeled by Obi-Wan's side, peering uncertainly at him.

"I'm still here, Padawan." One hand slowly slid out from under the covers and patted his padawan's hand. To Obi-Wan's surprise, Anakin sniffled and dropped to his side, laying his head against his master's chest.

"I really missed you, Master. It hurt – so bad, thinking you were dead. I waited and waited for you to come, but you never did. I kept hoping and hoping, yet I was so afraid that you'd left me. Don't ever leave me, please."

The plea brought a pang to his heart, and a memory of thinking those same thoughts as he held a dying man, sitting on a cold floor in Naboo: Don't die, Master, don't die. He had not voiced the thoughts; tried to stifle his tears, but a lone one that had escaped to slide down his cheek had spoken for him, just as Qui-Gon's brush of that tear from his face had done the same in return. If his master's last words had been only of another, his last act had been a loving gesture to his padawan; a recognition of the ties that had bound them forever together.

His master had been taken from him; he had not left his padawan. It had seemed so, at first, after what transpired in the Council chambers, but Qui-Gon had been taken from him prematurely, before he could ever get a chance to explain his words and actions to his padawan. If nothing else, Obi-Wan had come to understand that his master had never meant to have him feel abandoned. No matter the hurt that his dying words had been only of Anakin, a hurt that would always remain, the request that he be the one to train Anakin itself was itself as much proof of his regard as the finger across his cheek.

A life of a Jedi was fraught with danger, its longevity never certain, but then, the life of no being ever kept to a schedule. He might die tomorrow, he might die before Anakin's knighting, or he might die some impossibly far off date in the future. However, whenever, the Force chose to bring him home, he knew one thing: he would not just leave his padawan.

"Won't leave you…ever. Taken, perhaps…won't leave." He brushed a finger alongside Anakin's cheek, wiping the tear away.

"I need you, Master. You can't die, not ever."

A weary smile crossed Obi-Wan's face as the sedatives slowly took affect. "Must. Every being dies and rejoins the Force. Someday I will, too….peacefully I hope…alone in my bed…even older than Master Yoda."

"I don't want you to die ever, especially alone. Not alone…I'll be there with you, Master," Anakin promised. "Not for years and years yet, but I won't let you die alone."

A chill swept through Obi-Wan and he shivered. It would take a while before he felt truly warm inside but this small boy at his side was doing his best to help warm his master by both his words and his physical presence. He needed to offer something in return, something to take the fear of loss and abandonment that underlay his words and turn them from despair into hope.

"Not death…rebirth," Obi-Wan slid into sleep as Anakin snuggled up to him, where he soon fell asleep with his head on his master's heart and Obi-Wan's arm curled around his shoulder. There they were found, in the same position, still together, in the morning.

Nearly thirty five years later, both were proved right.

-the end-


End file.
